
. 







Class 1'^ t> 


Bnnk >7 7 4-1^ . 

^ C^L '* 

Coipght >i° "l < 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



‘r 


> 


f 





u 


I 






•y, ..J’h 


}f' 


U> 


.i 


,*! > 


\v 


r / 


'M' 


I* 


* ' 




■>v 


! * 


.‘v: 


/• / « 


'Wi 




■k'l 


1 » 


I > 




m 


L' ’ i -♦‘i 


i‘ 


. S 


w 




^sy- 


'.•■V.i: 


,v; 


ii; 


' ! ) 






V «.. 




’• 4 


k / ♦ 't 




V 




\ , 


. W 


'in 


iiTT- 










>r< 


,A^ 












v». 




>5 




/Hi 


t ^ 


<* *' 


J/. 


V]*.. 


.vr' 








[A \ r 


.•^ V 




:<)• 


•W. • 


'V 


A- 


• # 


r>i 


r>rr»', 3 ' 


%. • 


V* t 




ir » .* 




'*.1 • 




.S' 




' t 


' 4 ' 










.S .' ' 




•»< 1 /. 4 ''\’» 


a. 


|V 1 




M* ^ V 


■f 




• . >' 


I* » 


.(>fl 




ii 


u - 




♦ V. 


•Nfi 


»• 


< A 




/.i. 


1 








li. 




/*■ 1, 


!• 'i^A 


I • ♦ ' 


> .vj 


^.1 


I 


liT^ 




« « 


:.■»: 






7fl 


«'\ 


IS '» 




:.wi 




<.T 


jN >i J 


m 


1 1 . 




1^. 








> 'J 






i V 


f - -r; 




‘V» 














- 








.«■ 




M 


X 


<fv ' 








f'Ui 






tP 


‘ H 




M 




11 


■y 


tktJ 




* I LIM 

■\ f'. 

■oiJf- 'A-:' 




[f* 


Vii 


?i./ 




r ' ^ ^ ;r*^4 . ■ 

v’-> 




if if. •/ N .- r 

^’V'* . r 


, 'V , 






rn* 


\% 










* ,ij* t r ^ 'V * ' ■ ‘f ’ ^ 

' A> -• ;uv ./'i 4 r- 




A 


I''.' iv- 






k. < ».'^l , ' . i •¥%• I / Jmi 




i_»' 


■ wT 


r ‘■’p^ 


f.rV 


moLWj 


'TA 


V' 




* # 






i>.» ^ 


i,r. 


jak 


>. • 'r 

vVA ' ' '/ 


r:^' 


ri 


> -A 


. i 




*, 1 


p;:>- 




m 


/ 


/ 


V d 


f •* 








:/,v/ * • 

'-4- • 




T - 






•V 


.■!r> 




.m 


i 




> 


»/. 


I . « I Bu / 

.. ■ -••- - - ■» ' ■■• 


-I /‘i’ 


I 's . .■W !4 


H 

\iiP 


.» ■ 4 


’ll 


%» 






-3 . 




. i 



' ' ^ ^ 

-/ 








•r ■’ ’ ^I'y ''' ' 




o.A':-\.- ^‘- .. /^r 


’ / » 


Jf 


V 


«. • . *. 


•,N' 




• I. ■•La. 


i ' •. 







'i\*i 


;•* 


f • 


• v.fsl-::- 


A’ 




*• ?’ 






r 


J 


yr/ 


% ir/' 




J 


:J. 




■ff 








im 


tW, 


rTVi 


ry« 


' >.v. 




. ^ V >'* 






V*' 


1/ '*■• - 


r/^A 






fk 


lv>' 


>. 






'Hy 


!V. 




^T;: '.V !V 




A. ft 


s*' *♦ 


rt 




( ' 


f • 










f r 


a 




* '^' */ 


-■. •'■ A 


» 


'1.-^ 






:vV:f.- 






L* i"/ 


f} >' Ti 


i 




* Y 


* * • ^ 




:r 






f '>• 


t .rf« 


C- r.i I 


■ - t 






Ml 




i.'ji 




■\ .“ 


^ I 


4' r 


^>r ■ ■- ■ 

,j^f - I • 




■a: 
















j . 


•* 






•<*•«? 


v.~». 


rj: '3 


m 






1: 


^ ^ <• • tv 


V'/’j 




L^Tf: 


t^r 


VVy 


'I -W 










■t.<' 


ii 






•- ■•-? 






■J: 


\m 






» 1-^ 




> 0 ';- ■ -S'v^ ''■ ' 




*■« 




t 


f. 




>'-dF.v 


,V**’ 


yrrs 




w ’ 










4 <y« 


.■'jSV, 

AitoW V » 




p^''. 


'Cll 


;h 0 i 


Iha 


ri». 




•‘>ii.''f 




■■■ ‘•.r. ''a,; I&J:?,,-''"; .f? 






v-71 








% .-j. :• ♦ 


« • 






1 


' ■ 

V . ; . 




jtf 












-A 




I . V* 






yy.,Li 


• f 


ft 




^;;V:-7 


IT-- 








- > 


.*#■*• I 


V' -ii 


Arl 






wtyy A. 


•-' A.' ■ ■- . ,,1 » . I 

I-* '•■ -^».». 


.^- 


• . Hi 


>Vf 






^ t. « 


I** 


-* t 


m 


*3l* Vi) 








r'. 






; • f j 


M « . 


' 4 Vv 






^ >3 


i 42< 






•/4 




> .1' 


/• 


*» 










-1 


V r », 




}y}\ 


•v; 


r ^ ^ . 




»*- 




;i'- V .ii, •>* 




V. 






. t »J 




. UVv.'uTsil 


A 










lV«<j 


•> ' 


% 


• . ' j '\V -•r/'4 




j**, 


JIV 


< ^ • 
t 






,* ♦ 




A 


*Al 


Ki> 


l.> 


r ^v• 


I.A 


.?aft 














/ 

a 

1 

% 






I 


V 

r 

i 


^BY EMILE ZOLA! AUTHOR OP “ L’ASSOMMOIR ! ” 



vi ^ 



(LE VENTRE DE PARIS.) 

'TBt Em I L.E. Zo la. 

A.UTHOR OF “ L’aSSOMMOIR,” “THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS/' “THE ABBE’S TEMPTATION,’* 
“ HELENE; OR, UNE PAGE D’AMOUR,” “THE KOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY,” ETC. 

TRANSLATED R¥ JOHN STIRLING. 


PHIL ADEL PHI A : 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS. 




NEW BOOKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS, AND PUBLISHED BY 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, PHILADELPHIA. 


L’ASSOMMOIB. A Novel, jE'mzYe author of “ The Rougon-Macquart Family,” 

** Helene,” “ The Abbe’s Temptation,” etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.00 in cloth. 

THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY; or, LA FORTUNE DES ROUGON. By Emile 
Zola, author of “ L’Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 

HELENE, A LOVE EPISODE ; or, UNE PAGE D’ AMOUR. By Emile Zola, author of 

L’Assommoir,” etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

THE ABBE’S TEMPTATION; or, LA FAUTE DE L’ABBE MOURET. By Emile Zola, 
author of “ L’Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 

UNDER THE WILLOWS; or, THE THREE COUNTESSES. By Elizabeth Van Loon, 
author of “A Heart Twice Won,” “ Shadow of Hampton Mead.” Cloth, black and gold. $1.50. 

MARKOF, THE RUSSIAN VIOLINIST. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville, author 
of “ Dosia,” “ Marrying Otf a Daughter,” etc. One large volume, cloth, price $1.50. 

MAJOR JONES’S COURTSHIP. Author’s New and Rewritten Edition. By Major Joseph 
Jones, of Pineville, Georgia. With 21 Illustrations by Darley and Cary. Price 75 cents. 

A HEART TWICE WON; or, SECOND LOVE. A Love Story. By Mrs. Elizabeth Van 
Loon, author of “The Shadow of Hampton Mead.” Cloth, black and gold. Price $1.50. 

THE SHADOW OF HAMPTON MEAD. A Charming Story. By Mrs. Elizabeth Van 
Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Morocco cloth, black and gold. Price $1.50. 

DOSIA. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville, author of “ Marrying Off a Daughter,” 

“ Saveli’s Expiation,” and “ Gabrielle.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

MAJOR JONES’S SCENES IN GEORGIA. With Full Page Illustrations, from Original 
Designs by Darley. Morocco cloth, gilt and black. Price $1.50. 

THE LAST ATHENIAN. By Victor Rydberg. This is one of the most remarkable books 
ever published. One volume, 12mo., 600 pages, cloth, price $1.75. 

MARRYING OFF A DAUGHTER. A Love Story. By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia,” I 
“ Saveli’s Expiation,” and “ Markof.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

PHILOMENE’S MARRIAGES. With Author’s Preface. By Henry Greville, author of 
“ Dosia,” and “ Marrying Off a Daughter.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

PRETTY LITTLE COUNTESS ZINA. By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia,” “ Saveli’s j 
Expiation,” “ Sonia,” and “ Markof.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

THE COUNT DE CAMORS. The Man of the Second Empire. By Octave Feuillet, author | 
of “ The Amours of Phillippe.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $i.25 in cloth. 

TEE SWAMP DOCTOR’S ADVENTURES IN THE SOUTH-WEST. With Fourteen Illus- 
tracions, from Original Designs by Darley. Morocco cloth, gilt and black. Price $1.50. I 

COLONEL THORPE’S SCENES IN ARKANSAW. With Sixteen Illustrations, from i 
Original Designs by Darley. Morocco cloth, gilt and black. Price $1.50. I 

HIGH LIFE IN NEW YORK. By Jonathan Slick. With Illustrations. Price $1.50. i 

RANCY COTTEM’S COURTSHIP. By author “ Major Jones’s Courtship.” Ulus. 50 cts. 

JARL’S DAUGHTER. By 3frs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. Paper cover, price 25 cents. ! 

LINDSAY’S LUCE. By 3Irs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. Paper cover, price 25 cents. 

1 ^ Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies of any one or 
all of them, will be sent to any one, at once, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. I 


The Markets of 


Paris. . 


(LE VENTRE DE PARIS.) 




^ ct 




BY EMILE ZOLA. 


AUTHOR OF “ L’ASSOMMOIR,” “ THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY,” 
“HELENE,” “the CONQUEST OF PLASSANS,” 

“the ABBE’S TEMPTATION,” ETC. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH 

BY JOHN STIRLING. 


r 


*' The Markets of Paris” is a remarkable workf and is the one which Zola calls 
his very best novel, and of which he is far more proud than of any others in his Rou- 
gon-Macguart series — prouder than of " L' Assommoir ” It must have been in his 
early manhood, when poor and friendless, he lived among the people, that much of 
the information which makes these pages so startlingly vivid, was acquired How 
many mornings, long before dawn, must he have visited these markets — how many 
hours and days must he have spent there, to have mastered the habits, manners and 
ways of these people, who are a class by themselves, and of whom we do not lose sight, 
from the beginning to the end of the book He introduces us to the Parisian charcutier 
~-the cook shop — and in La belle Lisa, the mistress of the establishment, we find the 
sister of Gervaise, the woman who stirred the depths of our hearts with pity, in 
“ L’ AsSommoir In truth “The Markets of Paris” stands as utterly alone in 
modern French literature, as it is distinct and apart, from any other work even 
by Zola himself. It is a book for all to read. 



T, 


B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 

306 CHESTNUT STREET. 


k 




copyright: 

T. B. BBTBBSOTT & 

1879. 




The CoiKgnest of Plassans; or, Ta Conqn^te De Plassans. By 

£mile Zola, author of “ L’Assommoir,” “ HeRsne,” “ The Abbe’s Temptation.” 

“The Conquest of Plassans” lias in it two extraordinary characters, absolutely 
original in conception and execution. These are the Abbe Faujas and his mother, who 
come, as tlie title of the volume indicates, to bring under their control the provincial 
town of Plassans. These two figures pervade the book. The .^bbe being the incarna- 
tion of ambition and the spirit of domination. We see that he has but one end in view. 
The mother of the .\bbe is equally remarkable — unselfish and devoted. Zola’s command 
of language in it is absolutely marvellous, and he uses it so accurately that the reader 
has before him the individual, the act or tlie scene, the hour of the day or night, the 
very light and atmosphere which were present to the mind and imagination of the 
Author. He makes us perceive the smell of vice, not the perfume ; his nude figures are 
those of the anatomical table, which do not inspire the slightest immoral thought. 
There is not one of his books, not even the crudest, that does not leave in the soul, pure, 
firm and immutable, the aversion or scorn for the base passions of which he treats. 

* Ij’Assoinmoir. A Novel. By J^mile Zola, the great French novelist. Over One 
Hundred Thousand Copies have already been sold in Paris of “ L’Assommoir.” 

“ L’Assommoir” is one of the greatest and most extraordinary works ever written, 
full of nature and of art, dramatic, narrative, and pictorial. In it, vice is never inado 
attractive, but “ Zola” paints it in all its hideous reality, so that it may tend to a moral 
end, for in it he unquestionablj’ calls “a spade a spade.” “L’Assommoir” is without a 
rival. The translator, John Stirling, has done his work in the most able manner. 

The Roug'oii-Macquart Family ; or, Fa Fortune des Rougon. 

By j^mile Zola, author of “ L’Assommoir,” “ Helene,” “The Abbe’s Temptation.” 

In “ The Rougon-Macquart Family ” Zola depicts people as he sees them, but not 
through jaundiced eyes ; he sets down their passions and their weaknesses, their petty 
jealousies, and small rivalries ; his heart is as tender as his pen is forcible, while his love 
of Nature is apparent in every chapter he writes; his descriptions of scenery and flowers 
are as minute as his dissection of the human heart. No reader, however careless, can 
peruse unmoved the pathetic story of Silvere and Miette, which is as absolutely tender 
and touching as anything known in modern fiction, and no one can deny that Zola has 
painted his pictures in colors which can never fade. 

The Abba’s Temptation ; or. Fa Fante de F’Abb€ Mouret. A 

Love Story. By J^mile Zola, author of “ L’Assommoir,” “ Helene,” etc. 

“The Abba’s Temptation,” by £mile Zola, writes one of the most noted literary 
editors in New York, to John Stirling, the translator, “is the sweetest love story I ever 
read, and is a great book, for there is much in the work that is lovely and pathetic. It is 
a work of marvellous ability, not immoral in any sense, while it teaches a great lesson. 
As Zola depicts the innocent love and purity of the unhappy Abbe, one can scarce believe 
that he, who wrote ‘ L’Assommoir,’ can be the author of this sweet, pathetic love story.” 

IK^l^ne, a Fove Fpisode f or, Fne Page I>’ Amour. By J^mile Zola, au- 
thor of “ L’Assommoir,” “ The Abb6’s Temptation ; or. La Faute de L’Ahb6 Mouret.” 

“Hi;L£NE” is admirably written, is full of powerful and life-like delineations of char- 
acter, and is the great sensation in Paris, for the book is admirably written by a truly 
great artist. The characters and scenes in “ Helene ” are well conceived and well exe- 
cuted, and it is imiwssible to deny the author’s great skill, for every reader will aclcnow- 
ledge “Zola’s” great power in “Helene.” Besides the story, there are many pages 
devoted to rapturous descriptions of Paris at sunrise, at noonday, at sunset, and at night. 
Zola has made his name famous, and he will find plenty of readers for all he writes. 


\J 


TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE. 


JT is almost impossible for any translator to find 
an English word, which will accurately convey 
the complex meaning intended by Monsieur Zola 
when he selected the title of Ventre de 

Paris” for the remarkable work which we. now 
present to our readers under the name of The 
Markets of Paris;” a work which Zola calls 
his very best novel, and of which he is far more 
proud than of any others in his Kougon-Macquart 
series — prouder than of UAssommoir.” 

It must have been in his early manhood, when 
poor and friendless, he lived among the people, 
that much of the information which makes these 
pages so startlingly vivid, was acquired. How 
many mornings, long before dawn, must he have 
visited these markets — how many hours and days 

( 15 ) 


16 


translator’s preface. 


must he have spent there, to have mastered the 
habits, manners and ways of the people, who are a 
class by themselves, and of whom we do not lose 
sight, from the beginning to the end of the book. 

As Monsieur Zola maintains, that all that exists 
in Nature, is worthy of being reproduced by the 
true artist — he, in this profound study of the man- 
ner in which a great city is fed, has omitted not 
one detail, or smoothed over one repulsive incident. 
He takes us from the bloom, and the beauty of the 
flower and fruit markets, to the fish stands, where 
he points out to us the exquisite workmanship of 
the scales on the inhabitants of the great deep. 
He describes the vegetables as if they were rare 
tropical plants; and then introduces us to the 
cellars under the vast Halles, where the reserved 
stock of fish is kept, and where poultry is fed and 
fattened for the tables of the wealthy. 

He introduces us to the Parisian charcutier — 
the cook shop — where pork is served in every imag- 
inable form; and in La belle Lisa, the mistress of 
the establishment, we find the sister of Gervaise, 
the woman who stirred the depths of our hearts 


translator’s preface. 


17 


with pity, in L’Assommoir.” Both women are 
daughters of the shrewd Uncle Macquart, who 
figures in the Conquest of Plassans,” and in the 
initial volume of the series. 

The gossiping women are inimitably depicted. 
The busy old maid, who picks up her breakfast 
and her dinner, in return for some choice bit 
of scandal imparted to the market women, is a 
finished picture of its kind. 

The Italian, from whose recent work we have 
previously quoted, says of this novel ; 

The story of the disgusting and iniquitous ple- 
beian gossip, which ends in ruining a good man, 
and which revolves in that strange theatre, the 
Halles, full of colors and odors — among these 
enormous and impudent fish-vendors — amid that • 
strange network of rival shopkeepers and republi- 
can plots — has always seemed to me one of the 
happiest inventions of French genius.” 

And in truth Ventre de Paris” stands as 
utterly alone in modern French literature, as it is 
distinct and apart, from any other work even by 
Zola himself. The reader follows the fortunes of 


18 


translator’s preface. 


the tender-heartedj generous Florent from the sad 
beginning to the disastrous end, growing hot with 
rage, at the manner in which he is sacrificed, and 
burning with contempt, at the baseness of the peo- 
ple by whom he is surrounded. 

That the American public will find as much 
pleasure in the perusal of the work, as the trans- 
lator has had, in the performance of his agreeable 
task, is the strong hope of 


John Stirling. 



CONTENTS. 


CHAPTEE PAGE 

I. DESPAIR AND HUNGER 21 

II. THE miser’s treasure 59 

III. THE HANDSOME FISH-WOMAN 123 

IV. ‘‘CHICKWEED FOR THE LITTLE BIRDS I”... . 183 

V. DUTY BEFORE ALL 221 

yi. RING-DOVES AND PIGEONS 282 


( 19 ) 


I 


i 


\ 


The Markets of Paris. 

(LE VENTRE DE PARIS.) 

FROM THE FRENCH OF 

ZOL A.. 

AUTHOR OF " l'ASSOMMOIR,” “ THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY ; OR, LA FORTUNB 
DBS ROUGON,” " HELENE ; OR, UNE PAGE d' AMOUR,” “ THE ABBE’S TEMP- 
TATION ; OR, LA FAUTE DE l’aBBE MOURET,” “ THE CONQUEST OF 
FLASSANS; OR, LA CONQUETB DE PLASSANS.” 

TRANSLATED BY JOHN STIRLING. 


CHAPTER 1. 

DESPAIR AND HUNGER. 

T hrough the profound silence and loneliness of the 
deserted avenue, the wagons of the market garden- 
ers rolled slowly toward Paris; the measured rhythm of 
their wheels, re-echoed from the fayades of the sleeping 
houses on either side, behind the confused outlines of their 
sheltering trees. A cart loaded with cabbages, and another 
with peas, at the Pont de Neuilly joined eight more, piled 
W'ith carrots and turnips coming down from Nanterre; 
the horses moved on slowly by themselves, with heads 
well down. The drivers slept under the striped covering, 

( 21 ) 


22 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


holding the reins lightly in their hands. A gas-jet would 
flash down occasionally on the shining nails of a stout 
shoe, or the blue sleeve of a blouse, light up the red 
carrots and white turnips, and bring out the vivid green 
of the peas and the cabbages. 

From all the roads came the dull, continuous sound of 
wheels, lulling the black town to a deeper sleep as they 
bore onward through the silence and darkness, this vast 
supply of food. 

Balthasar — the horse belonging to Madame Fran5ois — 
a stout, heavy animal — was at the head of the line. He 
walked on at a steady pace, though half asleep, gently 
moving his ears, when all at once, at the head of la Rue 
de Longchamps, he started, and stood still, firmly planted 
on his four feet. The other animals did the same, and the 
whole line came to a halt, amid the oaths of the awakened 
wagoners. 

Madame Fran9ois, leaning against a board among her 
vegetables, looked out, but saw nothing, for the scanty 
light of the small lantern fell only on Balthasar^s shining 
flanks. 

Well, Mother! Why don’t you get on?” called out 
one of the men, getting upon his knees among the turnips. 

It is only some drunken man.” 

She leaned out of her wagon, and saw on the right, 
almost under the feet of the horse, a black mass lying 
across the road. 

I don’t propose to drive over any one,” she said, as 
she clambered over the wheel. 


THE MAEKETS OF PARIS. 


23 


It was a man lying face downwards in the dust. He \ 
seemed to be of a most extraordinary length — as thin as a 
withered branch. It was a miraale that Balthasar had 
not broken him in two with one blow of his foot. Mad- 
ame Fran9ois thought the man dead. She knelt down by 
his side, took his hand, and felt that it was warm. 

Poor fellow ! ” she said, gently. 

But the wagoners were growing impatient, and the one 
who had previously spoken now said, in his thick voice : 

Give him a push. Mother. - He is pretty full, that^s 
all the trouble ! Roll him over into the gutter ! 

The man opened his eyes. He looked at Madame 
rran9ois in a wild sort of way, but did not move. She, 
too, thought him drunk. 

You must not lie there,” she said. You will be run 
over. Where are you going ? ” 

I do not know,” he replied, in a low voice. Then he 
made an effort, and added : 

was going into the city. I fell, and I do not 
know — ” 

She saw him more distinctly now. He was indeed \ 

most deplorable in appearance, with his black and thread- 
bare coat and pantaloons clinging closely to his emaciated 
form. His cap, also of black cloth, pulled down over 
his brows, showed two bright, brown eyes of singular 
sweetness in a weary, anxious face. Madame Fran9ois 
thought him too thin to be a drinking man. 

'^And where were you going after you get into Paris?” 
she asked. 


24 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


He did not instantly reply ; he was evidently annoyed 
at this interrogatory. He hesitated, and then said, slowly: 

I was going to the Halles.” 

He struggled to his feet with infinite difficulty, and 
made an effort to continue his way. 

The market-woman saw him stagger, and grasp the 
side of the wagon. 

You are tired ? ” 

Yes, very tired,” he replied. 

Then she adopted a rough, authoritative tone, and said : 

Get into the wagon at once ! You are making us all 
lose our time. I am going to the Halles, and I will take 
you with my vegetables;” and as he refused, she lifted 
him with her stout, strong arms, and threw him among 
her turnips and carrots. 

Don’t be a fool, my good man ! Don’t I tell you that 
I am going to the Halles? Go to sleep, and I will wake 
you when we get there.” 

She climbed to her seat, shook her reins a little, as she 
gathered them up, and Balthasar calmly resumed his slow 
march, the other wagons following. The reverberations 
began anew, and drivers fell asleep once more. The one 
who had spoken, stretched himself out and muttered : 

“ I wonder if we are to pick up all the drunken men. 
If that is your idea. Mother, you will have enough to do.” 

The wagons rolled on, the horses going as they pleased. 
The man whom Madame FranQois had rescued, lay at full 
length among the vegetables, half covered by the spreading 
carrot-tops. He clutched the side of the wagon with 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


25 


weak, loose fingers, lest he should be thrown out by a 
sudden jolt, and looked out at the two interminable lines 
of gas-lights, which afar off melted into other lights. 

I am from Nanterre. I am called Madame rran9ois,” 
said the market-woman, after a long silence. Since my 
old man died, I go myself every morning to the Halles. 
It is hard work, but I must grin and bear it, I suppose. 
And you?” 

‘^My name is Florent, and I come from a great 
distance,” answered the unknown, with some hesitation. 

I beg your pardon, but I am so very tired that it hurts 
me to speak.” 

He was evidently determined not to talk, and she said 
no more, but let the lines fall a little on Balthasar’s back, 
as the animal knew every step of the way. Florent, with 
his eyes riveted on the lights of Paris, thought of the 
history he hoped to conceal. He had escaped from 
Cayenne, where he had been sent after these dark 
December days. He had wandered for two years in 
Guyana, eager to return to his native land, but afraid of 
the Imperial police. Could it be that at last he saw the 
dear city for which he had so long pined ? He would 
hide himself there and live peaceably ; the police would 
have no reason to suspect him ; to them he was as good as 
dead. He thought of his arrival at Havre with fifteen 
francs tied up in the corner of his handkerchief. 

At Rouen he left the railroad, as he had but thirty sons 
remaining; and at Yernon bought some bread with his 
last two sous. After that he could remember nothing. 


26 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


He thought he must have slept several hours in a ditch. 
A Gendarme had asked for his papers. He remembered 
all this in a vague sort of way. His head was dizzy, for 
he had come from Vernon without a mouthful, clutching 
at times at the leaves of the hedges, and chewing them in 
despair; but he walked on in spite of cramps, which 
nearly cut him in two, drawn on by that image of Paris 
waiting for him behind the distant horizon. 

When he reached Courbevoie, the night was very 
dark. Paris, like a streak of light falling athwart the 
blackness, appeared to him severe and retreating. As he 
crossed the Pont de Neuilly, he leaned over the parapet 
and saw the Seine rolling below in inky blackness between 
the dark banks. From that point his progress was 
upward. The avenue seemed absolutely endless to him. 
The hundred of leagues he had toiled over became as nothing 
— it was this last part of the road which drove him to 
desperation ; never would he reach that summit crowned by 
those lights. The avenue with its tall trees and lower 
houses — its gray pavements streaked with shadows — the 
dark gaps made by the cross streets — the silence and the 
blackness — the yellow flaming gas-lights at regular dis- 
tances being the only suggestion of life, weighed him 
down. Florent could not go on. The avenue lengthened 
as he walked, and Paris was still farther off. It seemed 
to him that the very gas-lights were dancing to and fro. 
He tottered and fell — an inert mass — on the sidewalk. 

And now he was lying on this soft, fresh verdure. He 
raised his head a little to see a wider extent of the 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


27 


luminous mist that rose above the distant roofs. He 
was going on without any exertion of his own, and his 
only pain now arose from the pangs of hunger, which had 
again awakened within him, and were gnawing like wild 
animals. The strong and penetrating odor of the carrots 
troubled him. He turned over on his face, and pressed 
his stomach against these piles of food, hoping to still his 
cravings. And behind were nine more huge wagons, with 
their mountains of cabbages and peas, their piles of 
artichokes and lettuce, celery and leeks. He wondered if 
they would fall upon him and stifle him with their 
abundance, while he lay dying of hunger. 

There was a sudden stop — a great noise of voices. 
They had reached the barrier and the Custom House 
people were examining the wagons. 

Florent entered Paris among the carrots — sound asleep. 

‘'Hallo! my good man,’’ cried Madame Fran9ois, and 
as he did not move, she reached over and shook him. 

He struggled up — he was no longer hungry — he was 
dizzy and faint. The woman made him get down, and 
then said : 

“You will help me unload, won’t you?” 

He helped her, but a stout man, with a cane and a felt 
hat, with a metal badge on his left breast, became angry, 
and knocked his cane against the pavement. 

“ Come, come — make haste ! that will never do. You 
have four metres, haven’t you ?” 

He handed a paper to Madame Fran9ois, who drew 
from a linen bag the necessary sous, and the man ordered 


28 


THE MAEKETS OP PAEIS. 


the wagon to move on a little, and then turned his grum- 
bling to the next. The market-woman took Balthasar by 
the bridle, and pushed him back until the wheels ran up to 
the sidewalk. She proceeded to mark her four metres on 
the pavement with small bundles of straw, then lifted the 
board at the back, and begged Florent to hand her out 
the vegetables bunch by bunch. She arranged them 
methodically and with marvellous deftness, so that the 
turnip, carrot and beet tops framed her little square with 
a mass of verdure, and the whole looked in the shadow 
like a rich carpet. When Florent handed her a huge 
bundle of parsley, the last thing in the wagon, she asked 
him yet one other service. 

‘‘Would you be so kind as to watch my merchandise 
while I put up my horse ? I have only two steps to go — 
just round the corner to the Compas d’Or in la Rue Mon- 
torgueil.’^ 

He assured her that she might make her mind easy — 
he had as lief stay there as not, until her return. The 
fact was that he preferred to stay still — for hunger began 
to gnaw at his vitals the moment he moved. He sat 
down and leaned against a pile of cabbages, telling her she 
might be as long as she pleased. 

His head was dizzy, and he did not feel quite certain 
where he was. As soon as September comes, the early 
morning is dark, and lanterns were moving about, held 
in invisible hands. He was at the end of a wide street 
with which he was perfectly unfamiliar; ten steps away it 
was all thick darkness, and he could see no farther than 


1 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 


29 


the merchandise over which he was keeping guard. Con- 
fused gray masses occupied the centre of the street, and lie 
heard the sound of cattle moving and breathing loud. A 
quiet imperative call — the fall of a piece of wood on an iron 
chain on the stone pavement, the dull thud of a wagon 
backed up against the curbstone — filled the air with vague 
suggestions of a formidable awakening near at hand — an 
awakening with which all this darkness already shivered. 

Florent, turning his head, saw on the other side of the 
pile of cabbages, a man sound asleep, with his head on a 
basket of prunes ; nearer still was a lad of twelve curled 
up between two piles of chiccory. But he fixed his eyes in 
dull surprise on two gigantic covered sheds on either 
side the street — whose roofs seemed to expand as he gazed. 
His mind slightly wandered and he began to dream of 
an endless palace, light and airy, brilliantly illuminated. 
He saw the slender pillars and the overhanging roof. He 
tried to count the succession of halls crowded with people. 
He turned his head aside, restless and uneasy, and sud- 
denly beheld the illuminated clock-face of Saint-Eustache, 
and the gray mass of the church. He was excessively 
astonished at finding himself in this locality. 

Madame rran9ois now appeared. She was disputing 
with a man who carried a sack on his shoulders, and 
wished to buy her carrots at one sou a bunch. 

^^But there is no sense in it, Lacaille ! You will sell 
them again for four or five sous to the Parisians ; you 
know that as well as I do! You can have them for two 
sous, if you say so.’^ And as the man went away she said : 

2 


30 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


That is really too much — he won’t find any carrots at 
a sou — but he is tipsy — there is no use in talking about 
him. He will be back soon enough, too ! ” 

She was speaking to Florent, and then she took a seat 
by his side. 

^^Tell me,” she said, you have been a long time 
away from Paris ? For, if you have, this market is new 
to you. The Halles have been built not more than five 
years. All this building on your right is devoted to 
flowers and fruits. Next comes the fish and the poultry, 
and beyond, the vegetables, cheese, butter, etc. There are 
six buildings on this side of the street, and on the other 
four — tripe and meat and all that sort of thing." It is 
an enormous place, and hideously cold in winter. They 
say that there are two more divisions to be built, and a 
number of houses to be torn down, all the way from the 
wheat market. You know where that is ? ” 

No,” answered Florent, I am quite a stranger. But 
>vhat is the name of this wide street, just before us?” 

It is a new street — la Rue du Pont Neuf, which runs 
from the Seine. There is la Rue Montmartre, and there 
^ la Rue Montorgueil.” 

She rose ^ she spoke, seeing a woman leaning over her 
turnips, 

^^Good-morning, Mother Chantemesse,” she said, in a 
friendly way, 

Florex^t looked la Rue Montorgueil. It was there 
that he had been arrested by armed police on the night of 
the 4th of December. He was walking along the street. 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 


31 


about two o’clock, feeling a certain contempt for all these 
soldiers that the Elys6e had sent forth, when all at once, 
these soldiers swept the streets with a discharge of 
musketry. He himself fell at the corner of la E-ue 
Vivienne; he knew no more, the crowd trampled upon 
him, and the noise was deafening. When all was again 
silent, he tried to rise to his feet again. The body of a young 
girl lay across him. She wore a rose-colored hat, and her 
shawl had slipped off, showing a muslin waist all tucks 
and inserting. Two musket-balls had gone through her 
throat, and when he lifted the poor thing, his hands were 
drenched with blood. Then he rushed away, mad with 
horror, and wandered until night, seeing nothing but this 
young girl with her pale face, and her great blue eyes wide 
open, in which he read a great surprise — surprise at Death 
coming to her so suddenly. 

He was very timid, and although thirty, rarely looked 
into a woman’s face, and yet this one would haunt him all 
the rest of his life. That evening, without knowing how 
he got there, he found himself at a wine-shop in la Rue 
Montorgueil. The men were all talking of erecting some 
barricades. He went with them, and assisted them in tear- 
ing up the paving-stones, and then seated himself, for he 
was weary with the excitement of the day. He had not 
even a knife in his belt, and his head was bare ; he bade 
his friends tell him if the soldiers came, as he was ready 
to do his share of fighting. About eleven o’clock, he fell 
asleep ; but his dreams were haunted by those blue eyes, 
and the two round holes in that white throat. When he 


32 


THE MAEKETS OF PARIS. 


awoke, he was in the grasp of four armed men ; his friends 
had taken flight. The police wished to strangle him at 
once when they saw that he had blood on his hands — it 
was the blood of the blue-eyed girl. 

Florent, absorbed in these recollections, watched the 
illuminated dial in the tower of Saint-Eustache, but he 
saw neither figures nor hands. It was nearly four o’clock. 
The Halles was not yet well astir. Madame Chantemesse 
still bargained with Madame Francois over the price of 
the turnips, and Florent recalled what he had seen in that 
very spot — five dead bodies had lain there — five poor 
fellows who had been taken at a barricade in la Rue 
Gren^ta. He had not been shot down at the same time and 
place, merely because the men who took him prisoner had 
swords instead of guns. He was taken to a station near 
by, where his description was filed. 

Hands covered with blood when arrested. Very 
dangerous.” 

He was dragged from station to station ; at each the 
same words were written down. He was hand-cuffed and 
treated as if he were a madman. At one place some tipsy 
soldiers wished to shoot him, but fortunately orders came 
that all prisoners should be carried before the Prefect. 
The next day he was placed in a casemate of the Fort de 
Bic^tre. That day he suffered from hunger for the first 
time in his life, and eagerly snatched the mouthfuls of 
food which were thrown into him, as to a wild beast. t 

When he appeared before the Judge, without any testi- 
mony in his favor, or counsel to defend him, he was 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


33 


accused of belonging to a secret society ; and when he swore 
that this was not true, the Judge, with a portentous frown, 
drew out the ominous bit of paper. 

Hands covered with blood when arrested. Very 
dangerous.” 

This was enough. He was tried and condemned at the 
end of six weeks. In January a jailor came to him in the 
middle of the night, and took him down to a court-yard 
where there were at least four hundred other prisoners. 

And in another hour the first detachment of these were 
sent into exile, wearing hand-cuffs, and marching between 
two files of soldiers with loaded guns. They crossed the 
Pont d’Austerlitz, following the line of the Boulevards, 
and reached the Havre station. It was a gay and festive 
night of the Carnival — the windows of all the restaurants 
on the Boulevard were blazing with lights; and near la 
Kue Vivienne, just where the dead girl had lain, Florent 
saw some masqued women in a carriage, who were much 
disgusted at being detained by all these ‘‘for9ats,” ‘‘who 
would never get past.” 

From Paris to Havre, the prisoners had not a mouthful 
of bread nor a drop of water. No rations had been dis- 
tributed before they started. They were forgotten. They 
had nothing to eat for thirty-six hours — not until they 
were on board tffe frigate “ Canada.” 

As he looked back, he could not remember that he had 
had enough to eat once since then. He was nothing but 
skin and bone, and now he returned to Paris, to find her 
rolling in abundance. He had come back to her borne 


34 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


Upon a cart heaped high with vegetables. That Carnival 
night on which he had left Paris had apparently lasted 
until now — for seven long years — and it seemed to him 
that all the glitter and prodigality of that night, as he 
remembered it, had blossomed out into this enormous 
market. 

Mother Chantemesse decided to buy twelve bunches of 
turnips. She held them in her apron, and still stood 
talking. When she at last departed, Madame Franyois^ 
went back and took a seat by Florent, saying i 

That poor old woman is over seventy. I was a child 
when she bought turnips of my father, and she has not a 
relative in the world, > nor a soul to do a thing for her, 
except a girl she has picked up somewhere. The old 
woman gets along somehow though, and even makes 
her forty sous per day. But, dear me, I wonder how she 
can stay all the time in these Paris streets ; they would 
kill me.” 

And as Florent did not speak, she said : 

You have relations here, I suppose?” 

He did not seem to hear her. He was uneasy and 
suspicious. His head was full of stories of police agents 
and detectives watching at all the corners of the streets — 
of women selling the secrets they tore from certain poor 
devils. He looked at Madame Frangois’ kindly face, 
framed in a black and yellow handkerchief tied under her 
chin. She was apparently about thirty-five, rather large, 
and masculine, but handsome, from her abundant health 
and out-of-doors life, softened by the womanly tenderness 
which spoke from out her black eyes. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


35 


She went on, not in the least offended by the silence of 
her companion. 

have a nephew in Paris, but he has turned out 
badly. I suppose your parents will be surprised to see 
you. Ah ! it is a nice thing to go home when one is sure 
of a welcome, is it not?” 

She did not take her eyes from him as she spoke. She 
was compassionating his excessive thinness, but detecting 
a gentleman under his shabby clothing, she did not dare to 
offer him the piece of silver which was burning her hand. 

At last she said, timidly : 

“If in the meantime you should happen to want any- 
thing — ” 

But he refused with uneasy pride ; he said he had all 
he needed, and that he knew where to go. She seemed 
quite pleased, and said over and over again, as if to 
reassure herself : 

“Well, then, you have only to wait for daylight!” 

A great bell above Florenfs head now began to ring, 
with a slow and regular sound. Carts were rolling up. 
The shouts of the drivers and the snapping of their whips, 
the grinding of the gravel, beneath the wheels and the 
feet of the animals, momentarily increased. The wagons 
could now advance only a rod or two at a time, so great 
was the crowd. All along la Kue du Pont Neuf the 
carts stood against the sidewalk and were unloading — the 
horses with their heads close together. Florent took 
especial interest in an enormous load of cabbages on which 
shone a gas-light, bringing out the green of the large 


36 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


leaves looking like wrinkled velvet. A little peasant girl 
of sixteen, wearing a blue jacket and close-fitting cap, 
stood upright in the cart among the cabbages, and threw 
them one by one to some person standing in the shadow 
below. 

The girl was sometimes almost hidden among the ver- 
dure. Then her pretty, rosy face peeped out again. She 
laughed, and the cabbages recommenced their flight 
between the gas-light and Florent. He counted them 
mechanically and was sorry when the cart was empty. 

The vegetables were so arranged on the pavement that 
the venders could circulate among them. The lights from 
the glancing lanterns shone on a bundle of artichokes, on 
the delicate green of lettuce, the deep orange of the carrots 
and the ivory whiteness of turnips. All these brilliant 
colors were repeated again and again, until the whole 
ground was like a delicious mosaic. The crowd was 
rapidly increasing; customers were moving in every 
direction. A loud voice called : 

“ Nice chi ccory ! fresh chiccory!” 

The proprietors of the vegetable stalls — women 



their white caps, and fichus knotted loosely, and with 


skirts pinned up carefully — were making their purchases, 
which porters were carrying to the stalls. And there was 
much noisy disputing over a sou. Florent was infinitely 
astonished at the calmness of these hale countrywomen, 
with their sunburned faces and Madras handkerchiefs, in 
the presence of those voluble Parisians. 

Behind him was the fruit market — ^rows of low, shallow 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


37 


baskets stood covered with cloth or straw, while an odor 
of over-ripe plums filled the air. A low, sweet voice 
compelled him to look around. He saw a charmingly 
pretty woman, small and dark, bargaining with a man. 

“Well, then, Marcel, will you sell them for a hundred 
sous?’^ 

The man made no reply, and the young woman waited 
fully five minutes, when she said : 

“A hundred sous for this basket, and four francs for 
the other, make nine that I owe you ?” 

Another silence. 

“What, then, am I to give you?” 

“Ten francs — just as I told you! And Jules — what 
have you done with him. La Sarriette?” 

The woman laughed, and said as she showed a handful 
of money : 

“Bless your heart, Jules is asleep ! He vows that men 
were not made to work.” 

She paid him, and took the two baskets into the fruit 
market, which had just opened. Through its covered 
streets a crowd was constantly passing, while at the 
Pointe Saint-Eustache, the bakers and proprietors of other 
small shops were just taking down their shutters, and their 
windows, lighted by gas, made little red spots among the 
gray houses. Elorent looked to the left, way down la 
Rue Montorgueil, and saw the glossy brown loaves in 
the window, and fancied that he could even smell them. 
It was now half-jmst four. 

All this time Madame Fran9ois was getting rid of her 


38 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


merchandise, and had now nothing left, but some bunches 
of carrots, when Lacaille appeared again with his sack. 

Will you take a sou for them now?” he asked. 

I was sure you would be back,” answered the market- 
woman, quietly. “ You can have all that are left— only 
seventeen bunches.” 

“ That makes seventeen sous.” 

No ; thirty- four.” 

They finally agreed on twenty-five, as Madame Fran9ois 
was in a hurry to get away, and Lacaille went off quite 
triumphant with his carrots in his sack. 

Old miser ! ” she said to Florent. He always waits 
until the last sound of the bell to buy his four sous’ worth 
of stuff. Ah, these Parisians ! They bargain their eyes 
out for two liards, and then go and drink up every sou 
they own, at the first wine-shop.” 

When Madame Fran9ois spoke of Paris, she was full of 
irony and contempt. She seemed to regard it as a most 
contemptible, as well as ridiculous city, in which she 
would not consent to spend a night. 

‘^And now,” she said, with a sigh of relief, as she 
again seated herself by Florent; now I can go.” 

Florent looked away, for he had committed a theft. 
He had picked up a carrot and held it concealed in his 
hand. The parsley and celery emitted such fragrance that 
his hunger became unendurable. 

I am going away,” repeated Madame Fran9ois. 

She was interested in this stranger, and was certain 
that he was suffering. She made him new proffers of 


3 ^ 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 

assistance, but he refused tb^i all with a certain sharpness 
in his voice. He rose to his feet to prove that he was quite 
able to go on his way, and as she turned away her head, 
he put a piece of the carrot in his mouth. He held it 
there a moment, as she looked him once more in the face, 
with several new questions.^ He nodded, and eat the 
carrot slowly. 

The market-woman turned to depart, when a full voice 
called out: 

“ Good-morning, Madame Francois h” 

It was a thin fellow who spoke — a thin fellow with a big 
head and big bones, a delicate nose, and small bright eyes. 
He wore a hat of black felt, shabby and out of shape. He 
was closely buttoned up in an immense overcoat, once light 
chestnut in tint, on which the rain had left huge greenish 
blotches. Round-shouldered, and trembling in a nervous 
way that was probably habitual, he stood with his legs a 
little apart, his stout-laced shoes and blue stockings fully 
exposed to view by his very short pantaloons. 

Good-morning, Monsieur Claude,” replied the market- 
woman, gayly. I waited for you Monday, and as you 
did not come, I took care of your canvas, and fastened it 
up on my wall in my bedroom.” 

You are very kind, Madame Fra§nois. I will come 
some day and finish my sketch ; Monday it was impossible. 
Has your great prune tree put out all its leaves yet ? ” 

Oh ! yes, indeed.” 

“ Well, then, I will put it in the corner of my picture; 
it will do well there next the poultry-house. I have been 


40 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


thinking about it all the week. The vegetables are superb 
this morning. I got up early only to see the effect of the 
sunrise on these cabbages.” 

am off!” said the market-woman. hope to see 
you soon, Monsieur Claude.” 

She hesitated, and then added, presenting Florent to the 
young painter : 

Look here ! This gentleman has just come back from 
a long journey, and feels like a stranger in Paris. Give 
him some help, can’t you?” 

And she walked off quite content in leaving the two 
men together. Claude looked at Florent with interest. 
His long, oval face, with its uncertain expression, struck 
him as quite original. The market-woman’s introduction 
was quite enough, and with the ease of a person accustomed 
to all sorts of odd adventures and rencontres, he said 
quietly : 

will go with you ; but where are you going?” 

Florent was not altogether pleased, but one question 
had been on his lips for the last hour, and he determined 
to risk it. He hastily said : 

‘‘Does la Rue Pirouette still exist?” 

“To be sure,” answered the painter. “And a curious 
corner of old Paris it is, too, with its crooked turns and 
pot-bellied houses. I made a sketch there that was not 
very bad. When you come to my studio I will show it to 
you. Is that where you want to go ? ” 

Florent, quite comforted by hearing that la Rue Pirouette 
still existed, said no, that he was not going there. All 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 41 

hIs distrust was awakened by Claude’s persistence, who 
answered, gayly: 

Well, never mind ! let us go all the same to la Rue 
Pirouette. Come, it is only two steps off.” 

There was nothing to be said, and Florent was com- 
pelled to yield, and they strode off. Along the sidewalk 
were gigantic piles of cauliflowers arranged with surprising 
regularity. Their tender green among the coarser outer 
leaves gave them the look of flowers, or of a succession of 
bridal bouquets. Claude stopped before them with a little 
exclamation of admiration. 

A gas-light still burned on the corner of la Rue 
Pirouette. The houses were precisely as the painter had 
described them — pot-bellied, and elbowing each other, 
although some few were quite the contrary, and looked as 
if they were about to fall on their noses. The gas fell full 
on one which was very white and fresh, as if it had 
recently been done up, while others were tottering and 
covered with green mould. Florent stood still at the 
corner of la Rue Mond^tour, in front of the house next to 
the corner on the left. The three floors looked as if all 
the inhabitants were still sound asleep ; the small white 
curtains were drawn close, while high up in an attic 
window, a light came and went. But the shop on the 
lower floor seemed to cause Florent an extraordinary 
emotion; it was a place where only cooked vegetables 
were sold. At the back bright tins glittered, and on 
the counter stood chiccory and spinach smoking in small 
earthen dishes, where they were piled up in smooth 


42 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 


hillocks. This sight seemed to astonish Florent; he 
looked up at the name Godebceuf, on a red sign^ and stood 
aghast, with the air of a man to whom some great misfortune 
has arrived. 

Meanwhile the attic window was opened; a little old 
woman leaned out, looked at the sky, then at the Halles, 
and then into the distance. 

Hallo I Mademoiselle Saget is early to-day,” said 
Claude, turning toward his companion : 

I once had an aunt living in that house, which is a 
perfect nest for scandal. Ah! the Mehudeus are moving. 
I see their lights on the second floor.” 

Florent was about to ask a question, but suddenly 
changed his mind, for he did not feel quite easy each 
time he looked the little artist full in the face. He there- 
fore listened, while the other talked of the Mehudens. 
They were fish women- — the oldest was superb — the youngest 
looked like one of Murillo’s Virgins, calm and fair, among 
her carp and her eels. And then the little painter added, 
angrily, that Murillo was not such a wonderful artist 
after all. He suddenly stood still in the middle of the 
street. 

‘^Well!” he asked, ^^do you want to go to the very 
end ? ” 

I don’t care where I go,” said Florent. Lead on, I 
will follow.” 

As they turned out of la Eue Pirouette, a voice called 
Claude from the depths of a wine-shop on the corner. 
Claude went in, dragging Florent with him. The 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 


43 


shutters were taken down from only one window, tlie gas 
was burning, and the air close and stifling; a dirty towel 
and the cards of tlie previous evening lay forgotten on the 
table, fluttering in the breeze which came in at the open 
door, and mingled with the stale odor of wine and tobacco. 

The proprietor, Lebigre, was waiting on his customers 
in his shirt-sleeves, and with his big face white with 
sleep. Men were drinking at the counter — coughing and 
spitting — swallowing raw brandy with the hope of arous- 
ing themselves to their day’s work. Florent saw Lacaille 
— the man who had bargained for the carrots, and was now 
discussing with a comrade the price of potatoes. When 
he had emptied his glass, he went into a small room at the 
back of the shop with Lebigre. 

‘^What will you take?” said Claude to Florent. The 
little painter had shaken hands, and he came in with the 
young man who had called him — a handsome young fellow 
of about twenty-two, wearing a moustache on his other- 
wise well-shaven face, which smiled from under the wide 
brim of a hat well dusted with chalk. 

Claude called him Alexander, tapped him familiarly on 
the arm, and asked when they should go to Charentoneau, 
and they said something about a jolly boating party on 
which they had been together, and of a delicious rabbit- 
stew they had enjoyed in the evening. 

^^Well! what will you take?” repeated Claude. 

Florent looked at the counter in some doubt. At one 
end were bowls of punch and hot wine ke])t hot over gas. 
He said he would take something warm. Monsieur 


44 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


Lebigre handed over the counter three glasses of punch. 
A basketful of hot rolls stood on the counter ; but as the 
other two men did not take any, Florent refrained, al- 
though he felt the hot punch fall into his empty stomach 
like so much melted lead. It was Alexander who paid. 

“A good fellow is this Alexander,” said Claude, when 
they left the wine-shop. He is excellent company in the 
country. I never saw such a gymnast; his muscles are 
something extraordinary. He has posed for me naked 
several times in the open air. Now, shall we take a turn 
through the Halles ? ” 

Florent followed him. At the end of la Hue Rambu- 
teau a bright light announced the coming of the day. The 
roar of the crowd in the market was constantly increasing. 
The two men turned into one of these covered streets, be- 
tween the fish and the poultry market. Florent lifted his 
eyes to the high roof, with its cross timbers of shining 
wood, and then, as he looked about him, it seemed to him 
that he was in some big town with its distinct Quartiers — 
its squares and its streets — all put under a huge shed out 
of some whim on a rainy day. There was a perfect forest 
of pillars, and innumerable trellises of iron. Some of the 
divisions were as yet unoccupied, although the gas was 
lighted throughout. Women were hurrying through the 
fish market, and laying out their wares on the marble 
tables. 

The hurry and noise was spreading from the poorer 
quarters where the cabbages were bought and sold at four 
o’clock in the morning — to the stalls where pheasants and 
chickens were sold to the wealthy at eight o’clock. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


45 


All along the sidewalks were established petty market 
gardeners, from the outskirts of the city, with their bunches 
of vegetables and dainty baskets of fruit. 

Carts were constantly driving in under the vaulted roof. 
Two of these stood in such a way that Florent was 
obliged to wait for them to move before he could pass, and 
he saw the men take down heavy bags which were wet 
and smelt of sea-moss, and contained shell-fish, as did 
huge boxes with cross-bars of wood, which were brought 
by the railroads daily from the ocean. Then came large 
yellow wagons with colored lanterns, laden with cheese, 
eggs and butter. 

Claude was delighted with all this tumult. He was 
transfixed by an effect of light on a group of men in 
blouses. At last they struggled through all this confu- 
sion, and found themselves in a quieter spot filled with 
delicious fragrance. They were among cut flowers. 
Women were seated on either side of them, with their 
square baskets full of roses, violets and marguerites. A 
lighted candle brought out a perfect melody of color — the 
pale sweetness of the marguerites, and the vivid crimson 
of the dahlias, and the flesh-like tints of the roses. 

There is nothing sweeter or more spring-like than this 
odor of flowers coming to one after the smell of fish and 
the pestilential odor of cheese and butter. 

Claude and Florent loitered along among the flowers, 
and stopped with some curiosity before the women who 
sold bundles of ferns and of vine leaves^ methodically 
bound together — twenty-five in a bundle. Then they 
3 


46 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


turned into another quiet street, which was almost 
deserted, where their steps resounded as in a church. 
They found there, harnessed to a wagon about as large 
as a wheelbarrow, the smallest donkey that was ever 
seen. The creature began to bray as soon as the two men 
came in sight, and with such prolonged vigor that the 
vast roof of the Halles fairly reverberated. Horses 
neighed in response, and these sounds were repeated again 
and again, until lost in the distance. 

Opposite was the Rue Berger, with its wide-open stalls 
heaped up with baskets and with fruit. Near by stood a 
fiacre, in which they caught a glimpse of a lady lounging 
in the corner, while her driver swore at the carts, in which 
he found himself hopelessly entangled. 

“ It is Cinderella coming home without her slipper,’’ 
said Claude, with a smile. 

The two men talked a little as they lounged through 
the market. Claude, with his hands in his pocket, told 
how much he enjoyed seeing all this abundance which 
poured into Paris every morning. He said he never came 
without his imagination being filled with wonderful 
pictures, of which he had yet begun only one. He had 
made Marjolin and Cadine sit for him, but the deuce of it 
all was, that these vegetables, fruits, meat and fish, were 
mighty hard things to paint ! 

Florent listened, while the pangs of hunger were 
devouring him, to this enthusiasm. It was plain that 
Claude at this moment did not think of these things as 
eatable ; he liked them for their beauty and color. 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 


47 


Claude suddenly stopped and tightened, in a way that 
was common with him, the wide leather belt he wore under 
his old overcoat, and said, with a knowing air : 

Sometimes my only breakfast is through my eyes, and 
when I have neglected to dine the evening before, this 
sort of breakfast does not agree with me.” 

He then went on to describe a supper for which a friend 
had once paid at Baratte’s. They had had oysters, fish and 
game ; but Baratte had come to grief. He and the old 
Marche des Innocents were done for together. This vast 
Halles was a very poor substitute for the past. Florent did 
not know whether the artist most regretted the loss of what 
was picturesque, or the good cheer that once was to be got 
at Baratte’s. Claude was now launched ; he delivered a 
fiery vituperation of all the old masters; his cabbages, he 
declared, were better than all their dingy rags. He ended 
by accusing himself of miserable mannerism in the study 
he had made of la Rue Pirouette. 

I tell you,” he said, a man should paint what he 
sees, and as he sees it. Now, look there ! ” he continued. 
^Hs not that a better picture than their consumptive 
saints?” 

Women were selling coffee and soup. A small crowd 
of customers had gathered around a large kettle of cab- 
bage soup which smoked on a tiny brasier. The woman, 
armed with a long ladle, first put into a yellow bowl thin 
slices of bread, which she took from a basket covered with 
a napkin, and then filled up the bowl with soup. There 
were clean market-gardeners in blouses; dirty porters with 


48 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 


their shoulders soiled by the burthens they had carried, 
poor devils in rags ; in short, all sorts of persons, eating 
their breakfast, and scalding themselves with the hot 
soup. The painter was delighted, and half shut his eyes 
to compose his picture. But the smell of the cabbage 
soup was terribly strong. Florent turned away his head — 
the sight of the appetizing bowls made him dizzy, and even 
Claude was affected. 

He tightened his belt with a smile, but he was a little 
vexed, and walked on, saying as he did so, in a low voice, 
to Florent : 

‘^It is very funny, but did you ever notice that there 
are always plenty of people ready to pay for a drink for 
you? But no one ever thinks of such a thing as paying 
for your food ! ” 

It was now dawn. At the end of la Rue de la Cosson- 
nerie, the houses in the Boulevard Sebastopol were black, 
and above their slated roofs stretched a line of light. 
Claude was looking up with his eyes fixed on a roof over 
his head. 

^^What are you looking for?’’ asked Florent. 

For that devil of a Marjolin,” answered the painter. 

I need him for a study. He is certainly up there, unless 
he has seen fit to spend the night in a cellar with the 
poultry.” 

And he went on to say how his friend Marjolin always 
lived about the market, of which he knew every nook and 
corner — he and that little scamp of a Cadine whom 
Mother Chantemesse had picked up one night in the old 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


49 


Marche des Innocents. He was a splendid great fellow, 
with a ruddy beard which would have gladdened the heart 
of Rubens : while she was a tiny creature, with a quaint 
little face and bright eyes under a wilderness of curly hair. 

Claude, as he talked, increased his pace; he led his 
companion to the Pointe Saint-Eustache, where he dropped 
on a bench near the omnibus station. A ray of light 
suffused the eastern sky, which overhead was sombre and 
gray ; and the air had such aromatic freshness that Florent 
could fancy himself on a hillside in the country. Claude 
pointed out to him the secret of this odor. Thyme and 
lavender, sweet marjoram and basil were all around him, 
done up in bundles ready for sale. 

The illuminated dial of Saint-Eustache was slowly fad- 
ing, while in the wine-shops the gas-burners were being 
extinguished one by one. And Florent watched the Halles 
emerge from the shadow, stretching their endless length 
before him, and when the daylight brought them entirely 
into view, they struck him as a wonderful machine, the 
result of modern ingenuity — a gigantic cauldron made of 
wood, metal and glass. 

Claude stood upon a bench and insisted on his companion 
admiring the light as it streamed over the vegetables, 
bringing out all their rich tints and varied shades of green. 

The cabbages alone were a study for an artist. Enor- 
mous white cabbages, hard and compact, as if made of 
metal ; curled cabbages with leaves like bronze ; red cab- 
bages with streaks of rich purple and crimson. In the 
distance the opening to la Rue Rambuteau was barred by 


50 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


a barricade of orange-colored pumpkins, and the glossy 
reddish brown of a basket of onions, the vivid red of a 
pile of tomatoes, the yellowish tone of a quantity of cucum- 
bers, the sombre violet of the egg-plants, delighted the 
heart of the artist, who called “these vegetables simply 
sublime.” Meanwhile the crowd of white caps and blue 
blouses filled the narrow paths ; porters lifted their bur- 
thens high above their heads. There was a soldier and 
several nuns buying cabbages, and stout cooks were peer- 
ing about in search of bargains, and the carts were still 
roaring up the street. 

“ Is it not magnificent ? ” cried Claude. 

But Florent was in an agony of pain. He looked up 
at Saint-Eustache, of which he saw the sides, like sepia 
tracings against the blue sky. He saw the beautiful win- 
dows, the bell-tower and the slated roof. He caught the 
gleam of gold-lettered signs in la Hue Montmartre, down 
which workmen in white blouses, with their tools under 
their arms, were hurrying. 

Claude was stil stanlding on the bench. Suddenly he 
belield in the crowd a head he knew. 

“Ah! Marjolin! Cadine!” he cried. 

His voice was lost in the uproar, and he jumped down to 
follow his friends, but, suddenly remembering Florent, he 
said, quickly : 

“You will find me in the Impasse des Bourdonnais — 
my name is on the door, Claude Lantier. Come and see 
my sketch of ^la Rue Pirouette.’ ” 

He disappeared. He did not know Florent’s name — 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


51 


he left him, as he had taken him, on the curbstone, having 
explained his artistic preferences. 

Florent was now alone. At first he was glad of it. 
Since Madame Fran9ois had picked him up in the Avenue 
de Neuilly he had been simply half-awake, and yet in 
such pain that he had hardly known what he was doing. 
At last he was free, and he tried to rid himself of the 
intolerable and heavy dream, of mountains of food, by 
which he felt himself pursued. But his head had a 
strangely empty feeling. He was a little afraid withal, 
for he could now be seen. His clothing was lamentable. 
He buttoned up his coat, brushed his pantaloons, fearing 
that their very dust would betray whence he came. He 
was seated by the side of several other poor devils on a 
bench which was kept in view by several policemen, who 
were walking up and down. Florent fancied that they 
knew him, and were about to arrest him. He felt a mad 
desire to run, but he did not dare to move, nor had he the 
smallest idea where he should go ; but he felt that he could 
no longer endure this cold examination of these men, and 
left the bench, not hurriedly, but as quietly as possible, 
feeling in imagination rough hands laid upon his collar. 

He had but one desire now, and that was to get away 
from “Les Halles;” but the streets were all so crowded 
that he did not know which to take. Wherever he turned, 
his path was encumbered by the vegetables, while the 
pavement was slippery with the leaves of artichokes and 
lettuce. 

He heard the noise from the Halles. It was like a 


52 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 


great central organ furiously beating — throwing the blood 
of life through all its veins. 

He went into a quiet covered street, at the left, which he 
had previously noticed as especially quiet; but it was now 
as noisy and bustling as the others. He went to the Very 
end, where he found cages of living poultry, and baskets 
of dressed fowls. On the opposite sidewalk were carts 
discharging whole calves and calves in quarters, sheep 
and quarters of beef. Butchers with white aprons were 
weighing and cutting up the meat. He looked at them 
with wild, hungry eyes. He passed the stall where tripe 
was sold, and the feet and heads of calves, with the brains 
delicately placed in flat baskets — sweetbreads and kidneys. 
Florent, with sullen rage in his heart, turned away from 
this place. His teeth chattered, and he was afraid he 
should fall on the ground, and be picked up and carried 
off by the police. He stopped and leaned against a tree, 
with his eyes closed, and a strange buzzing in his ears. 
The raw carrot he had swallowed griped his stomach, and 
the glass of punch intoxicated him. He was drunk with 
despair, fatigue and hunger. A great fire burned within 
his breast. He pressed his two hands upon it, as if to 
stop a hole through which his life was ebbing. Tlie side- 
walk upheaved under his feet when he tried once more to 
walk. He staggered, and finally, in a stupor, allowed 
himself to be pushed first in one direction and then in 
another. 

He was ready now to beg, and angry with himself at 
his foolish pride in rejecting the alms offered by Madame 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


53 


Fran9ois, and he was vexed also that he had not asked the 
painter to give him something ; for now there was no one 
to whom he could turn. He was left there like a lost dog. 
He looked toward the Halles once more ; they were now 
bright with the blaze of the rising sun — the zinc roof re- 
flected the light. Blinded and dizzy, he wondered if he 
were to die in the face of all this plenty. Hot tears stood 
in his eyes. 

Two women now passed him — a little old woman and a 
taller one. 

‘^And you come yourself to market, Mademoiselle 
Saget?’’ asked the taller and younger of the two. 

Oh ! Madame Lecoeur, my marketing is nothing. 
You know what one woman lives on is nothing ! I wanted 
a little cauliflower, but they are so dear. And butter — 
how much do they ask for it to-day ? ” 

“ Thirty-four sous. I have some very good. Suppose 
you try some.” 

I don’t know. I have a little on hand.” 

Florent made a great effort, and followed these women. 
He remembered that he had heard the smaller one men- 
tioned by Claude, and said to himself that he would speak 
to her as soon as she was alone. 

^^And your niece ?” asked Mademoiselle Saget. 

^^La Sarriette has her own way,” answered Madame 
Lecoeur, sharply. The day will come that she will turn 
to me for a mouthful of bread, but she will ask in vain ! ” 

^^You were very good to her always. She ought to 
make money, for fruits are very advantageous this year. 
And your brother-in-law ? ” 


54 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


«Oh! he—” 

Madame Lecoeur pinched up her lips, and seemed 
determined to say no more. 

‘^Always the same, I suppose,” continued Mademoiselle 
Saget, ‘^but he is a good man after all! Though it is a 
pity that he wastes his money in such a way ! ” 

How does he waste his money ? ” answered Madame 
Lecoeur, fiercely. “ He is a miser, I tell you, and a thief, 
too. He would let me starve rather than give me a five- 
franc piece. He knows perfectly well that I have made 
no money this year, while he has sold all the poultry he 
could get hold of ; but he has never once offered me the 
smallest assistance; not that I would have accepted it, 
you understand.” 

^‘Ah I here he comes,” said Mademoiselle Saget, lowering 
her voice. 

The two women turned and looked at a man who was 
crossing the street. 

I am in a hurry,” said Madame Lecoeur, I left my 
stall without any one ; and, besides, I do not wish to speak 
to him.” 

Florent looked around mechanically. He saw a small, 
squarely-built man, with rather a happy face, holding 
under each arm a fat goose. He started, looked again, and 
started in pursuit of this man. When he reached him, he 
touched him on his shoulder. 

Gavard ! ” he said. 

The other looked up in some surprise at this long, 
black figure, which accosted him. Then he uttered a 
stifled exclamation ; 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


55 


You ! ” he cried ; you here ! ” 

He nearly let his fat geese slip from his grasp; but 
seeing his sister and Mademoiselle Saget watching this 
meeting with evident curiosity, he walked on, saying : 

'‘Do not stop here; there are too many eyes and 
ears.” 

They found a quiet corner, and talked. Florent said 
he had been to la Rue Pirouette. Gavard thought this 
very queer ; he laughed, and said that Quenu had moved, 
and opened his pork-shop in la Rue Rambuteau, opposite 
the Halles. He was still more amused when he discovered 
that Florent had been all the morning with Claude 
Lantier, a droll sort of fellow, who was, moreover, the 
nephew of Madame Quenu. He would show Florent 
where the pork-shop was. But when Gavard found that 
his friend had returned to Paris, with forged papers, he 
shook his head with an air of grave disapproval. He 
insisted on going a little in front, as they walked, that they 
might not attract attention. He passed his stall and hung 
up his two fat geese ; and still followed by Florent, he 
crossed la Rue Rambuteau, where he pointed to a showy 
pork-shop, past which the army of street-sweepers were 
just moving, with regular strokes of their brooms. 

The pork-shop was almost on the corner of la Rue 
Pirouette ; it was a pleasure to look at, being so bright 
and clean. The sign, on which was the name Quenu- 
GradeUe^ in long gilt letters on a pale blue grqund, was 
worthy of being covered with glass. Cupids sported amid 
wreaths of sausages and piles of cutlets. The window 


56 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


was a mass of green. Each plate was surrounded by 
parsley and celery. 

In the background were jars of pickles and pots of 
mustard. There were hams and tongues and pigs’ feet, 
black puddings and force-meat balls, sausages and pat4s, 
hams in jelly, and large pat6s; there were truffles and 
mushrooms ; there were boxes of tunny fish and sardines ; 
a box of rich Neufchatel cheeses in one corner, and in the 
other, fat little snails lay among parsley. On the rear 
shelf of this chapel, consecrated to the stomach, between 
two tall bouquets of purple gladioli, was a square 
aquarium, wherein two gold fish were disporting. 

Florent shivered. He saw a woman standing in the 
doorway. She gave another touch of beauty to all this 
solid comfort. She was a beautiful woman, full but not 
too stout, in all the maturity of her thirty years. She had 
just risen, and her shining hair was smooth and massive. 
Her fiesh had that transparent whiteness — that delicacy 
common to the skin of persons who live on buttermilk and 
fat meat. She was grave and serious in expression. Her 
stiff linen collar lay smooth about her throat. Her white 
sleeves came up to her elbows, and her white apron down 
nearly to her shoes, leaving only the extreme edge of her 
black dress to be seen, and its tight-fitting waist. She 
stood bathed in the sunshine, drinking in the beauty of 
the morning. She had a look of great kindliness. 

*‘That is your brother’s wife, your sister-in-law, Lisa,” 
said Gavard to Florent. 

He nodded to the woman as he spoke. Then turned into 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


57 


an alley, taking the most preposterous precautions — 
although the shop was empty — and was evidently delighted 
to be concerned in an adventure, which he regarded as 
somewhat compromising. 

“Wait!’’ he said; “I am going to see if your brother 
is alone. You must not go in until I clap my hands.” 

He pushed open a door in the alley, but when Florent 
heard his brother’s voice, he could restrain himself no 
longer, but rushed in. Quenu, who adored him, advanced 
with open arms. They embraced each other as if they 
had been children. 

“Ah I ” stammered Quenu, “ and I thought you dead I 
Only just now, I was saying to Lisa that poor Florent — ” 

He stopped and put his head into the shop. 

“ Lisa I Lisa ! ” 

Then turning to a little girl in the corner, he said : 

“ Pauline, go ask your mother to come here.” 

But the child did not move. She was a magnificent 
little creature, about five years old, and looking very much 
like her mother. She held tight in her plump little arms, 
an enormous yellow cat, as if afraid that this shabby new- 
comer would steal her treasure. 

Lisa came with slow and stately step. 

“ It is Florent — my brother,” said Quenu. 

She called him “Monsieur,” and was very cordial. She 
examined him frankly from head to foot, but evinced no 
unkind surprise. Her lips were, however, slightly com- 
pressed, but they finally parted in a smile as she witnessed 
her husband’s ecstasy of delight. But he suddenly became 


68 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


grave, seeming to realize Florent^s careworn aspect and his 
excessive thinness. 

‘^Ah ! my poor, dear boy,” he said, ‘‘you have not grown 
fat. Now look at me!” 

He was fat, certainly — too fat for his thirty years. He 
seemed to be bursting out of his shirt and the great white 
apron, in which he was swathed. His well-shorn face 
had gained a certain resemblance to that of a pig, in the 
flesh of which animals his hands were busy all day long. 
Florent would hardly have recognized him. He seated 
himself and looked from his brother to Lisa, and then to 
little Pauline. They were all in riotous health, and 
gazed at him with all the astonishment of stout persons at 
excessive thinness. The very cat winked her yellow eyes 
and examined him with evident distrust. 

“Will you wait a while for breakfast?” asked Quenu, 
“or will you have something now? Our hour is ten.” 

Florent thought of the terrible night he had passed ; of 
his agony, and of the incessant sight of the abundance of 
which he could not partake, and said, in a low voice, with 
a sweet smile ; 

“ I am very hungry.” 


THE MAEKETS OP PARIS. 


59 


CHAPTER IL 

THE miser’s treasure. 

F LORENT had just begun the study of law in Paris, 
when his mother died. She lived at Yigan dans 
la Card. 

She had married a second time a Normand, a Quenu 
of Yoetot, whom a sub-Prefect had brought, and forgotten 
in the South. He remained at the Prefecture, finding the 
country charming, the wine good, and the women kind. 
An indigestion three years after his marriage, carried him 
off, and he left to his wife a stout boy much like him- 
self ; but not a sou. The mother was then paying with 
great difficulty her son Florent’s way in college; he was 
the child of her first marriage, and gave her great satisfac- 
tion. He was very industrious and ambitious, and carried 
off all the prizes. It was on him that she concentrated all 
her tenderness, and all her hopes. Perhaps she had pre- 
ferred her first husband ; perhaps Quenu, whose good 
humor had first charmed her, was too much absorbed in 
himself. She at all events made up her mind that her 
youngest boy would never amount to much. She con- 
tented herself with sending him to school, to an old woman 
ill the neighborhood, where the child learned little or 
nothing. The two brothers grew up far from each other, 
and almost as strangers. When Elorent arrived at Vigan 


60 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


his mother was buried. She had concealed her illness as 
long as possible, that she might not disturb him at his 
studies. He found little Quenu, then about twelve, 
sobbing in the kitchen. A neighbor told him all the, 
melancholy details. His mother had literally killed her- 
self with work that her son might pursue his studies. To 
a little shop where she sold ribbons, she added other toil, 
which kept her up early and late. The fixed idea of 
seeing Florent a lawyer, rendered her hard, exacting and 
pitiless toward herself and others. Little Quenu went 
about with ragged clothing, and never dared help himself 
at table. His mother always cut his bread for him, and 
cut it very thin, too. It was to this regime that she had 
succumbed with immense despair, at leaving her task 
incomplete. 

This history made a terrible impression on the tender 
nature of Florent. His tears choked him. He took his 
young brother in his arms and kissed him, as if to assure 
him of the affection with which he should always regard 
him. He looked at the little fellow’s shoes in holes, jacket 
in rags, and at his generally neglected air, and told him 
that he was to go with him, and that they would be happy 
together. The next day he found that he had /not money 
enough to return to Paris, but was determined not to 
remain at Yigan. He therefore gladly sold out the little 
ribbon shop, which enabled him to pay his mother’s small 
debts. And the neighbor offered him five hundred francs 
for the linen and entire household possessions of the 
deceased. The neighbor made a good bargain, but the 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


61 


young man thanked him with tears in his eyes, and that 
very evening dressed his brother in new garments. He 
was compelled to give up his law studies for the time ; and 
on his return to Paris, established himself with Quenu in 
la Rue Royer-Collard in a large room, which he furnished 
with two iron beds, a wardrobe and four chairs. He 
regarded his brother as his child, and at first, when he 
came home in the evenings, attempted to teach the child; 
but the lessons did no good. H'he boy absolutely refused 
to learn anything, sobbed and wished his mother were 
back, and he could play in the streets all day long. 
Florent in despair gave up the lessons, consoled him and 
promised an indefinite vacation ; and to excuse his weak- 
ness in his own eyes, he said to himself that he had taken 
the child, only to make him happy. This was Florent’s 
rule of conduct now; to sacrifice everything that Quenu 
might be happy. The elder brother absolutely adored 
the younger, basked in his smiles and laughed when he 
laughed, and enjoyed the boy’s growing up, with no care or 
fear for the future. Florent had a few scholars, but the 
task of teaching wore heavily upon him, he grew thinner 
and thinner each day, while Quenu was as plump as a 
partridge, and barely knew how to read and write ; but 
with a good nature which filled with gayety that old room 
in la Rue Royer-Collard. Years went on. Florent, who 
had inherited from his mothftv the spirit of self-sacrifice, 
cherished Quenu as if he had been a great indolent girl. 
He even avoided imposing on him any of their small 
household cares. It was he who went out for their 
4 


62 


THE MAEKETS OF PARIS. 


provisions — he who cooked them — and he who kept the 
room clean. 

^^It takes me out of myself/’ said Florent, who was 
very gloomy at times. When he came in at night, body 
and mind utterly weary, hating the children he had been 
teaching, he was touched by the joy of this big boy, whom 
he generally found playing top in the centre of the floor. 
Quenu laughed at his awkwardness in making an ome- 
lette, and at the solemnity with which he prepared the 
pot-au-feu. When the lamp was out, and Florent lay in 
his bed, he was at times very sad. He was very anxious 
to resume his law studies, and was trying to arrange his 
time, so that he could follow the course prescribed by the 
Faculty. When he at last succeeded in doing this, he was 
very happy. But a low fever, which kept him ten days 
in the house, was such a drain on his small resources, and 
made him so very anxious, that he gave up all idea of 
finishing his studies. His child was growing np, and was 
to be established. He succeeded in obtaining a position 
as Professor in a boarding school in la Rue de I’Estrapade, 
with a salary of eighteen hundred francs, which to him 
was a fortune. With economy, he could put money aside 
to establish Quenu, whom, at eighteen, he treated as if he 
were a sister or a daughter ; for whom a dowry was to be 
laid aside. 

During his brother’s short illness, Quenu had made his 
own little reflections, and one morning announced that he 
wished to work — that he was old enough to earn his own 
bread. Florent was profoundly touched. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


63 


Opposite their room, on the other side of the street, was 
a clock-maker whom the boy had found especial fascina- 
tion in watching — seeing him bending over his little table, 
handling delicate tools, and toiling patiently all day long, 
Quenu, therefore, declared that this was what he liked. 
But at the end of a fortnight, he was in despair, wept bit- 
ter tears, and said he could never learn the trade, nor 
remember ^Hhe thousand nonsensical things in a watch.” 

He preferred to be a locksmith ; but this he found too 
fatiguing. In two years he had tried ten trades. Florent 
agreed to all he said, and would not allow him to stick to 
anything he did not like. Unfortunately, this beautiful 
devotion on the part of Quenu, and his desire to earn his 
bread, was rather an expensive thing. While he was 
going from place to place, there were new and unforeseen 
expenses constantly occurring. Florent’s salary no longer 
sufficed them, and he was compelled to take several pupils 
in the evening. He wore the same overcoat for eight 
years. 

The two brothers had made a friend. The house in 
which they lived had a fa9ade on la Rue Saint-Jacques, 
and overlooked a great cook-shop, kept by a man named 
Gavard, whose wife was dying of consumption. When 
Florent came in, too late to cook a bit of meat, he bought 
a morsel of turkey, or of roast goose, for twelve sous. 
This was a great feast. Gavard at last became much in- 
terested in this tall, thin fellow, whose history he soon 
learned. He took a fancy to Quenu, who fairly haunted 
the cook-shop. As soon as his brother left home, ho 


64 


THE MAEKETS OP PARIS. 


hastened to his friend, and remained there all day, 
watching the huge spits turn slowly before the clear fire. 

The copper saucepans glittered — the poultry smoked — 
the lard bubbled in the frying-pans, and each spoke to 
Quenu as he, with a long-handled spoon in his hand, 
basted the brown breasts of the geese and the turkeys. 
Then when the fowls were cooked to a turn, and taken 
from the spit, and the skewers drawn out, the boy looked 
on in ecstasy — talking to the turkeys — telling them that 
they smelled deliciously, and that they should be eaten — 
every mouthful — and that the cat should not have even a 
bone. He was perfectly happy when Gavard gave him a 
slice of bread, and permission to dip it into the gravy. 

This place was unquestionably where Quenu took his 
fancy for cooking, and later, after he had tried all trades, 
he came back to that. He was afraid that his brother 
would be displeased, as he had rather a contempt for 
the good things of the table; but finding that Florent 
listened patiently, while he described some complicated 
dish, he summoned courage to announce his vocation, and 
soon entered the Kestaurant. From that time the life of 
the two brothers was settled. They lived together in the 
same large room ; that is, they met there each evening, and 
parted again in the morning, one with his face gay and 
bright, the other with the downcast look of an over- 
worked professor. Florent carefully laid aside his black 
coat, while Quenu put on his apron, his white jacket and 
tall cap, and busied himself about the fire in the prepara- 
tion of some dainty. Never was a manage on more 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 65 

congenial footing. The elder brother continued to grow 
thin, burned out by the energy of his father ; the younger 
grew plumper and plumper, a true son of Normandy. 
They loved in each other their common mother — that 
woman who was made up of unselfish tenderness. 

They had in Paris one relative, a brother of their 
mother, a pork-vendor in the Quartier des Halles. He 
was a coarse, miserly fellow, who received them as if they 
were beggars, when they first called upon him, and they 
repeated their visits only at rare intervals. On the birth- 
day of the old man, Quenu carried him a bouquet, 
and received ten sous. Florent suffered tortures, while 
Gradelle — for this was the name of the uncle — examined 
his threadbare overcoat, with the uneasy suspicious look of 
a man who expects to be asked for a loan of five francs. 
Florent had the simplicity one day to ask his uncle to 
change a hundred-franc note, and after this, his uncle was 
less afraid to see the children, as he called them, come in. 
But their friendship advanced but slowly. 

These years were to Florent a long dream, a dream that 
was both sweet and sad. He tasted all the bitter pleasure 
of self-immolation. At home he was beloved; outside, 
among his pupils, where he was subjected to a thousand 
humiliations, he felt himself becoming embittered and 
thoroughly wicked. His ambition, which he thought 
dead, leaped again into life; long months of discipline 
were needed, before he could bow his head and accept 
poverty and mediocrity. Eager to escape temptation, he 
threw himself into an ideal goodness, and created for 


66 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


himself a refuge of justice and absolute truth. It was then 
he became a Republican, as despairing girls become nuns — ■ 
and as he could find no Republic which would drown his 
woes, he created one. Books no longer charmed him ; all 
that blackened paper in the midst of which he lived, 
recalled to him his ill-smelling class-room, the chewed 
paper-balls flung about by the boys, and long, weari- 
some hours. Books only spoke to him of revolt, and 
awakened his ambition and pride, while he felt the niost 
imperative need of peace and rest. To dream of happiness 
and of the realization of his dreams was his one recreation — 
the occupation of his leisure hours. He read no more 
than was demanded by the duties of his profession. He 
took long walks through the outer Boulevards, devising 
all the time certain measures and humanitarian devices 
which would change this suffering town into a city of the 
blest. When the days of February steeped Paris in blood, 
he rushed about and became one of those orators who 
preach Revolution as if it were a new religion — all 
sweetness and redemption ! 

It needed the dark December days to change this 
universal tenderness. He allowed himself to be taken 
with the spirit of a lamb, and was treated like a wolf. 
AVhen he awoke from a dream of a sermon on 
Fraternity, he was suffering the pangs of hunger on the 
cold stones of a casemate at Bic^tre. 

Quenii, who was then twenty-two, was filled with 
mortal anguish, when his brother did not return, and the 
next morning went to the Montmartre Cemetery to look 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


G7 


for him among the dead, who were covered with straw, all 
but their heads. He was blinded by tears at this horrible 
sight. 

At the end of a week he heard that his brother was a 
prisoner, but he could not see him. On his persisting, he 
was threatened with arrest himself. He then went to find 
Uncle Gradelle, and implored him to save Florent; but 
Uncle Gradelle flew into a passion, and declared that it 
served the fellow right ; he had no business to get mixed 
up with those Kepublicans, and added that he always knew 
that Florent would turn out badly, for it was written on 
his face. Quenu wept his eyes out, and would not go 
away. His uncle was a little ashamed then, and felt as 
if he must do something for this poor boy, and proposed 
that he should come to him; he needed an assistant. 
Quenu dreaded to return to his great empty room, and 
accepted the offer made by his uncle. He slept in a little 
dark closet, where he could hardly stretch himself out; but 
he wept less than he would have done, had his brother’s 
empty bed stared him in the face. 

He succeeded finally in seeing Florent ; but, on returning 
from his first visit to Bicetre, he was taken ill, and was 
kept in bed for three weeks. This was his first and only 
attack of illness. Gradelle cursed his Republican nephew 
in his heart, and when he, one morning, heard that he had 
been sent to Cayenne, he rushed to Quenu, awoke him 
roughly, to convey this intelligence, which had such an 
effect on the young man that the next day he was on his 
feet. A month later, and he laughed, though angry with 


68 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


himself that he did so ; but after a little he laughed as of 
yore. 

lie learned all the art of cooking pork ; he liked nothing 
better tlian to be in the kitchen. Uncle Gradelle told 
him that few cooks knew how to manage pork, and that 
lie could teach him many a secret. As the young man 
Avas really useful to him, Gradelle began to like him after 
his own fashion. He sold the poor furniture of la Rue 
Royer-Collard for forty francs, and kept the money, for he 
said ^^that spendthrift, Quenu, would only throAV it out 
of the window.^^ He ended by giving him six francs 
each month for pocket money. 

Quenu, cramped for money, and almost brutalized, was 
very happy, for he had made a friend at his Uncle 
Gradelle’s, who, when he lost his wife, had engaged a girl 
to assist at the counter. He selected one that was good- 
looking, knowing that his choice would be another 
attraction to his shop. He knew in la Rue Cuvier, near 
the Jardin des Plantes, a widow lady, whose husband had 
been Postmaster at Plassans. This lady, who lived upon 
a very small income, had brought from that town a pretty 
child whom she treated like her own daughter. Lisa took 
care of her adopted mother with calm serenity. If she 
were a little too serious, she was very beautiful when she 
smiled. Her great charm was in this rare smile; then her 
very look was a caress. Tlie old lady often said that a 
smile from Lisa Avould tempt her to follow her to the 
infernal regions. When an attack of asthma carried her 
off, she left to the child of her adoption all her savings — 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 


69 


about ten thousand francs. Lisa was a 'week alone in the 


little apartment in la Rue Cuvier, and it was there that 
Gradelle went to look for her. He knew her from having 
seen her, when the lady with whom she resided paid him 
an occasional visit. At the funeral he was quite struck by 
her beauty, and, as they were lowering the coffin, it 
suddenly occurred to him that she would be quite superb 
behind his counter. He went a week later to make her 
an offer; he promised her thirty francs a month with 
board. She asked twenty-four hours for consideration, 
and at the end of that time she arrived with her little 
bundle and her ten thousand francs sewed into her corset. 
A month later she ruled the house ; Gradelle, Quenu and 
the smallest of the scullions. Quenu, in particular, 
would have cut off his fingers for her. 

Lisa, who was the eldest child of a Macquart at Plas- 
sans, had a father living, but she never heard from him. 
She mentioned more than once that her mother, Avhen 
living, had been a hard-working woman, and that she was 
like her. She was, indeed, very industrious. She talked 
too, of the duties of a wife and of a husband, in such a 
sensible way, that Quenu was quite charmed. He told 
her he had precisely the same ideas — which were, simply, 
that everybody ought to work — that each individual has 
his happiness in his own hands — that 




:e si n. This was an out and out condemna- 


tion of drunkenness, the besetting sin of the old Macquarts. 
Unknown to herself it was a real Macquart that spoke in 
her — a reasonable, logical, settled Macquart — who had 


70 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS, 


found out that the best way to sleep comfortably is to 
make one’s own bed. She gave to this consideration much 
time and much thought. When she was only six years 
old, she would sit still the whole day long, on the promise 
of being rewarded by a cake at night. 

At Gradelle’s, Lisa continued to live her calm, methodi- 
cal life. She had not accepted the good man’s proposition 
without mature deliberation. She needed a home and a 
protector, and felt certain that a future would be opened 
to her — a solid, comfortable future — a life of healthy enjoy- 
ment and regular work, without fatigue or responsibility. 
She took care of her counter in the conscientious way in 
which she had discharged all her duties at the Postmaster’s 
widow. Before long, the cleanliness and whiteness of 
Lisa’s aprons were a proverb in the Quartier. Uncle 
Gradelle was so pleased that he said sometimes to Quenu, 
as he chopped his sausages : 

Upon my word! if I were not over sixty, I would 
marry that girl ! A woman like that, my boy, is worth a 
fortune in trade ! ” 

Quenu drank all this in, but he laughed, nevertheless, 
one fine day, when a neighbor accused him of being in 
love with Lisa. They were very good friends. The girl 
occupied, next to the closet where the youth slept, a room 
which she had made very pretty, with a light paper and 
muslin curtains. They stood on the landing talking a few 
minutes, and then parted with a cheerful good-night. 
Quenu heard Lisa moving about ; the partition wall was so 
thin that he could hear every sound. And when he heard 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


71 


tlie bed crack after she had put out her candle, he said to 
himself: ^‘Mademoiselle Lisa is not a feather by any 
means ! ” 

This went on for a year. In the morning the girl would 
greet the young man without the smallest embarrassment, 
and would often help him in his work. They would each 
taste the sausages, to ascertain if they were highly enough 
seasoned. Her judgment was good, and she had several 
excellent receipts from the South, which he tried with 
great success. In the afternoons, when there were no 
customers in the shop, they talked quietly together. She 
sat behind her counter knitting, and he on a log of wood 
near by. The two understood each other to perfection. 
They talked a little of cooking, then of Uncle Gradelle, 
and exchanged a little harmless gossip about the Quartier. 
She told him stories as she would to a child. She knew 
any quantity, and wonderful legends also — full of lambs 
and angels — which she repeated in a sweet, flute-like 
voice, and with her solemn little manner. At eleven 
o’clock they lighted their candles, and marched up-stairs 
side by side. At the doors of their rooms they would stop. 

“ Good-night, Mademoiselle Lisa.” 

“ Good-night, Monsieur Quenu.” 

One morning. Uncle Gradelle was struck down by an 
apoplectic fit, while preparing a galantine. Lisa did not 
lose her self-possession ; she said he must not lie there in 
the middle of the kitchen. Then she stated to every one 
that the uncle had died in his bed, where she and Quenii 
laid him. Had the truth been known, their customers 


72 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


would have been disgusted and left them. Quenii 
obeyed all her instructions in a dull stupor; later, he and 
Lisa wej)t together. He was the sole heir — he and his 
brother Florent. 

The gossips in the neighborhood looked on old Gradelle 
as a man of wealth, but the truth was, that not a silver 
piece could they find. Lisa was very uneasy. Quenu 
saw her looking about as if she had lost something. Finally 
she decided on a grand cleaning. One afternoon she had 
been in the cellar for a couple of hours, and came up with 
something in her apron. Quenu was busy, and she 
waited until he had finished what he was doing, and talked 
with him in an indifferent tone, but her eyes were very 
bright. She smiled her rare smile and said she wished to 
speak to him. She climbed the staircase with difficulty, 
her movements hampered by the burthen she carried in 
her apron. At the top she was obliged to sit down and 
breathe. Quenu, in considerable astonishment, followed 
her into her room. It w^ the first time he had ever 
crossed the threshold. She closed the door, and dropping 
the corners of her apron, which her stiffened fingers could 
no longer hold, she let fall on her bed a perfect rain of 
gold and silver. She had found in the bottom of a 
salting-tub Uncle Gradelle’s treasure. 

The two young people sat down on the bed and looked 
at this pile, which they began to count. There were forty 
thousand francs in gold, three thousand in silver, and shut 
up in a tin box, forty-two thousand in bank notes. They 
were two good hours in making this calculation. Quenu’s 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 


73 


hands trembled, but Lisa was perfectly calm, when they 
named the sum total — eighty-five thousand francs ! Natu- 
rally, they began to talk of their future, and of their 
marriage, though there had never been any allusion made 
to it before. This money seemed to untie their tongues, 
and they sat talking until dusk, when Lisa started and 
blushed. The bed was all in disorder. The gold lay 
heaped on the pillow between them. 

They started up in as much confusion as if they had 
committed some great fault. Then Lisa got her ten 
thousand francs, which Quenu wished to add to his uncle’s 
money. It was agreed that Lisa should keep it all together 
for a while, in her wardrobe. She locked it up, straightened 
out the bed, and the two went quietly down-stairs. They 
were exactly like husband and wife with their common 
interests. The marriage took place the next month, and the 
Quartier thought it the most natural thing in the world. 
There was a vague rumor of the finding of the treasure, 
and Lisa’s honesty was a subject of endless eulogy. After 
all, she need never have told Quenu ; she could have kept 
the money, as no one had seen it. Of course, Quenu 
ought to marry her ! He was a lucky dog, to be sure, to 
have such a handsome wife, and one, too, who had found 
a fortune for him. 

Lisa smiled when she heard any of these whispers. 
She and her husband lived much as they had done before 
— like two friends — rather than as married lovers. Lisa, 
however, was too intelligent a woman not to understand 
the folly of allowing these eighty-five thousand francs to 


74 


THE MARKETS OF PARTS. 


rest quietly in the drawer of her wardrobe. Qiienii 
would have liked to put them back into the salting-tub, 
and when they had made as much more, retire to Suresnes, 
a place they both liked. . But she had very different ideas. 
La Kue Pirouette was offensive to her ideas of cleanliness. 
She wanted air, sunshine and light. The shop where 
Uncle Gradelle had. amassed this treasure, sou by sou, was 
a dark hole, so to speak, of which many are to be found 
in old Paris, permeated with the smell of grease and 
cooking, in spite of all the soap and water which may 
be lavished upon them ; and Lisa dreamed of one of the 
modern shops, with large panes of glass. She had no 
desire to play the lady behind the counter. She had a 
very clear idea of the duties of the position she wished to 
undertake. 

Quenu was much startled, the first time she spoke of 
moving and spending a portion of their money in decorat- 
ing a shop. She shrugged her shoulders with a smile. 

One evening, at twilight, before the shop was lighted, 
the husband and wife heard one woman say to another, 
before their door : 

No, indeed, I will not go there. I would not buy an 
inch of black pudding of them.” 

They had had a death in their kitchen. Quenu was ready 
to weep ; for this was a sorry bit of intelligence to get 
about. This it was, in fact, which finally reconciled him 
to the idea of moving. His wife at once occupied herself 
with the new shop. She had found one in an excellent 
situation. 


THE MAKKETS OF PARIS. 


75 


The Halles were opposite — their custom would soon be 
quadrupled, and their place would be known throughout 
Paris. Quenu allowed himself to be drawn into mad 
expenditures, and put thirty thousand francs into marble, 
mirrors and gilding. 

Lisa spent hours with the workmen discussing the most 
trivial details. When at last all was completed, and she 
took her seat behind the counter, the whole world flocked 
in merely to see the shop. 

There was a large amount of white marble — there were 
huge mirrors and glittering chandeliers — suggesting an 
indefinite number of rooms — all filled with good things to 
eat. 

On the right was a wide counter of white and pink * 
marble — a repetition of the floor, which had, in addition, 
a border in a wide pattern of deep red. 

The whole Quartier took pride in this pork-shop, and 
for a month people stood still on the sidewalk to contem- 
plate it, and to catch a glimpse of Lisa. Her beautiful 
pink and white skin was as wonderful as the tints of the 
marble. She was the master-spirit, or rather the goddess 
— the stately and solid idol of the shop, and went by the 
name of ‘Ma belle Lisa.” 

On the right of the entrance was the dining-room, 
always kept in the most delicate order, with a buffet, a table 
and cane-seated chairs — the inlaid floor and the paper on 
the walls, both pale yellow. The room was a little cold 
in tone, brightened as it was only by a brass hanging-lamp, 
with its porcelain shade, over the centre of the table. A 


76 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


door from the dining-room opened into the large square 
kitchen, at the end of which was a small, flagged court- 
yard, which served as a place to put pots and kettles 
which were past use — boxes and barrels. On the left of 
the fountain, and by the side of the gutter which carried 
off* the dirty water, were a few pots of flowers, withered 
and dying. 

Business prospered. Quenu, who had been consider- 
ably startled at the magnitude of his wife’s ideas, ended by 
admitting her cleverness and wisdom. In five years they 
had a comfortable little sum of eighty thousand francs 
well invested. Lisa said they were not ambitious — that 
they were in no haste to grow rich. They were young 
still — they had plenty of time before them, and they 
wished to take their comfort as they went along. 

^^Now,” added Lisa, in an hour of expansion, have 
a cousin in Paris. I never see him. The two families 
are not on terms. He has taken the name of Saccard — 
as he wanted certain things forgotten. Well, I am told 
that this cousin makes millions; but he is always in a 
hurry — hardly stops to eat his dinner. I don’t call that 
living! We know what we eat, and we enjoy it. I can 
see no use in money, except for what it buys. As to 
piling one pence on another, I would sooner fold my arms 
and sit still. I should like to see my cousin’s millions, 
though, for I do not quite believe in them. I saw him 
the other day in a carriage, and he was as yellow as a 
lemon, and looked perfectly overwhelmed with care. Of 
course, this is his own affair ; but we think very differently.” 


77 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 

The house and shop both prospered. One daughter 
was born, a year after their marriage. Everything went 
smoothly, as Lisa was an excellent manager, and her sys- 
tem was perfect. Husband, wife and child grew fat 
together. Quenu alone, had his hours of sadness when he 
thought of poor Florent. In 1856, letters came to him — 
then followed a long silence, and Quenu saw by the 
papers that three convicts had been drowned in attempting 
to make their escape from the He du Diable. He applied 
to the Head of Police, but could learn no further par- 
ticulars. His brother was probably dead, and yet he 
cherished a gleam of hope. 

Florent, who was wandering in Dutch Guiana, delayed 
writing, as he determined each day to start on the next, for 
France. Quenu at last made up his mind that his brother 
was dead. Lisa had never known Florent, but she lis- 
tened kindly to all her husband had to say ; she heard him 
describe for the hundredth time the room in la Rue Royer- 
Collard, where the brothers had lived together — the 
innumerable trades he had tried, the dishes he cooked on 
the stove. She listened quietly, with infinite sympathy. 
It was amid these placid joys that Florent fell one Sep- 
tember morning, just as Lisa stood in the door- way, 
basking in the morning sun. Husband and wife were 
thoroughly upset. Gavard insisted that ^^the convict,’’ as 
he called him, should be concealed at once. Lisa, paler 
and graver than usual, showed him to a room on the fifth 
floor. Quenu cut some slices of bread and ham, but 
Florent could hardly eat ; he was utterly worn out, and 


IS 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 


remained in bed for nearly a week, with symptoms of brain 
J fever, which were energetically and successfully combated. 

When he was better, he saw Lisa at his bedside, with 
a spoon and cup in her hand. He tried to thank her, but 
she gently bade him keep quiet; that he was not to talk 
at present. When at last he was able to leave his bed 
. and his room, Quenu came up for him, and took him 
down-stairs, where they occupied a small suite, consisting 
of three rooms and a closet. There was first an unfur- 
nished room, then a small salon, the furniture of which 
was always shrouded in white draperies, but dimly seen, 
sT- ,as the curtains were closely drawn, that the light should 
^ not fade the pale blue of the walls. Then came the 
1 bed-room, where they lived. This was comfortably 
'iurnished in mahogany. The bed was marvellous to 
^behold, with its fine mattresses, its fine pillows, and its 
eider-down spread, and the air of absolute sleepiness which 
(hung over it. It was a bed in which it was impossible not 
/to sleep. The armoire ^ glace, the toilette table, the 
/ crochet-cover on the gu4ridon, the chairs, protected by 
squares of guipure, gave the place a look of Bourgeois 
luxury. Against the wall on the left, on either side of the 
chimney piece, which was ornamented with vases on brass 
stands, and with a clock, representing a Guttenberg, with his 
finger on his lip, buried in thought — were hung portraits 
in oil of Quenu and Lisa, in oval and highly ornamented 
frames. Quenu smiled; Lisa had quite a modish air; 
both were in black, with very pink and white complexions. 
A moquette carpet, with complicated garlands of flowers 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 


79 


intermingled with golden stars, concealed the polished 
floor. Before the bed lay one of those soft rugs made of 
ravelled carpet, the result of the patient labor of belle 
Lisa,” as she sat behind her counter. A very odd eflect 
was produced amid all these modern things, by a gigantic 
Secretary, black with age, which stood against the wall. 
It had been varnished, but nothing could rejuvenate it. 
Lisa wished to keep this piece of furniture, which Uncle 
Gradelle had used for more than forty years. She said it 
would bring good luck. It had a most formidable aspect, 
with its enormous locks, and was so heavy, that it was 
almost impossible to move it. 

When Florent and Quenu entered, Lisa was seated 
before the let-down leaf of the Secretary, writing. She 
was adding up long columns of figures in a hand that was 
round and very legible. She made a little sign to signify 
that they were not to speak to her. The two men sat 
down in silence. Florent looked around the room at the 
bed, the two portraits, and the clock. 

‘^Now then,” said Lisa, at last having verified her 
accounts, listen to me. We have some business to settle 
with you, my dear Florent.” 

This was the first time she had thus addressed him. 
She continued : 

/‘Your Uncle Gradelle died without a will; you and 
your brother were the two sole heirs. To-day we are 
ready to give you your share.” 

“ But I ask nothing,” exclaimed Florent; “in fact, I 
want nothing.” 


80 


THE MAEKETS OF PARIS. 


Qaenu was in ignorance of his wife’s intention. He 
turned a little pale, and looked at her with an air of vexa- 
tion. He was sincerely attached to his brother, but it struck 
him as unnecessary to throw his uncle’s money at him in 
this way. 

I know very well, dear Florent,” resumed Lisa, 
^Hhat you did not come back with any intention of 
claiming that which belongs to you. Only business is 
business, and we had best get through with it at once. 
Your uncle’s savings amounted to eighty-five thousand 
francs. I have, therefore, put down to your credit forty- 
two thousand five hundred francs. Please look at this.” 

And she showed him the paper. 

“It is, unfortunately, not as easy to put a value on the 
shop, stock and business. I can only guess at this, but I 
have put it all down at fifteen thousand three hundred 
and ten francs, which will give you seven thousand six 
hundred and fifty-five francs. Please add these columns up.” 

And she gave him another sheet of paper. 

“But,” cried Quenu, “the old man’s shop was not 
worth fifteen thousand francs. I would not have given 
ten thousand for it ! ” 

His wife exasperated him ; it was folly to push honesty 
to such a point as this; Florent would never have thought 
of the shop ; why had she not let it alone ? 

“ The shop was worth fifteen thousand three hundred 
and ten francs,” answered Lisa, in an imperturbable tone. 
“ You understand, my dear Florent, that it is unnecessary 
for us to employ a lawyer to arrange our matters. We 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 


81 


are entirely ready to give you your share. I thought of 
this as soon as you came ; and while you were ill I went 
over our accounts, and I have made it all clear to myself, 
and I hope to you. Ask any questions you please. I 
have all the data here.” 

Florent smiled. He was touched by this probity. He 
laid the paper on the lap of la belle Lisa,” and took her 
hand in his. 

My dear Lisa,” he said, I am happy to see that you 
are so prosperous, but I do not want this money. You 
and my brother should be the sole heirs, for you two 
took care of him to the last. I need nothing, and I do 
not wish to disturb your business.” 

She insisted, even became angry, while Quenu sat 
gnawing his thumbs in vexed silence. 

“Ah ! ” answered Florent, smiling; “if Uncle Gradelle 
should hear you ; he is quite capable of coming back to 
this world and taking his money again. He never liked 
me, you know.” 

“No, indeed, he never liked you !” murmured Quenu, 
who could stand it no longer. 

But Lisa declared that she did not care to have the 
responsibility of money that was not her own. And 
Florent asked if she would not allow him to invest his 
money in her eating-shop. He added that he was quite 
willing to accept a little for immediate use, as he needed 
an entire outfit. 

“Of course,” said Quenu, “you will live here; you 
will cat, and we will provide you with all you need. 
That is understood.” 


82 THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 

Quenu was quite touched, and declared he would take 
on himself the duty of making his brother as fat as 
himself, but Florent shook his head. Lisa, in the 
meantime, had closed her account books and replaced them 
in the Secretary. 

^‘You make a great mistake, both of you,” she said, 
firmly ; but I have done all I could. Now you must go 
your own way ; but pray let us have no arguments — they 
worry me too much.” 

They discussed other matters now. It was necessary to 
give some explanation of Florent’s return. He told them 
that he had come back to France, on the papers of a 
poor fellow who had died in his arms of yellow fever at 
Surinam. Singularly enough, this youth was also named 
Florent — Florent Laquerriere — and had only one cousin 
in Paris. Nothing was easier than to assume this man’s 
identity. Lisa agreed to be the cousin. It was decided, 
therefore, that he should be described as the cousin 
returned from foreign parts, and hospitably entertained by 
the Quenu-Gradelles’ — as the household was called in the 
Quartier — until he could find a position. 

That evening Florent was freshly arrayed all in black, 
contrary to the wishes of Quenu, who said that it was 
most dreary. There w^as no attempt made to conceal the 
new-comer, and Lisa made constant allusions to her 
cousin. He wandered from the shop to the kitchen and 
back again. Quenu fretted at the table because he ate so 
little, and left on his plate half of what was placed there. 
Lisa was as calm and placid as ever ; did not in any way 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


83 


object to his presence, not even in the morning, when he 
was really very much in the way. She forgot him in 
fact so entirely at times, that when he suddenly appeared 
before her, she started quickly; but this start was 
immediately followed by a sweet smile. She was very 
much impressed by the disinterestedness of this man, and 
felt for him great respect, not unmingled with a vague fear. 
Florent enjoyed the affection by which he was surrounded. 

At bed-time he went up-stairs a little wearied by the 
emptiness of his day. Two youths employed in the shop 
inhabited attic rooms by the side of liis own. One of 
them, L^on, the apprentice, was not more than fifteen ; he 
was a real child, who, with the most innocent air in the 
world, helped himself surreptitiously to every stray 
sausage or bit of meat on which he could lay his hand. 
He hid them under his bed, and ate them during the 
night. Many a time, in the middle of the night, Florent 
fancied that L6on was giving a supper. He heard 
whispers and the noise of eating — rustling of paper and a 
rippling laugh — a child’s laugh, like the soft trill of a 
flageolet. 

The other fellow, Auguste Landois, was from Troyes, 
and very stout, with an enormous head, and bald, although 
he was not twenty-eight. The first evening that Florent 
was there, this fellow told his story in a long, confused 
way. He had only come to Paris to learn the business, 
and had intended to return shortly to Troyes, where he 
intended to open an eating-house, and where his cousin, 
Augustine Landois, was waiting for him. They had had 


84 


THE MABKETS OF PABIS. 


the same god-parents, and bore the same names; but now 
he had been bitten by ambition, and wished to settle in 
Paris, and there use to advantage the small inheritance he 
had received from his mother. Auguste said many 
pleasant things of Madame Quenu. He said she was 
most kind, and had consented to his sending for Augustine, 
to take the place of a girl in her shop, who had turned out 
ill. He had learned his trade, and now she was learning 
hers. In a year or eighteen months they would marry, 
and establish themselves somewhere in Paris. They were 
in no haste to marry, because business had not been good 
that year. He then told how they had been photographed 
together at a fete. He went into Florent’s room to 
show this photograph, which he thought the girl had 
left behind, when she vacated this room, which had 
been hers. He held the candle high up, as he said that 
Augustine would be much better off down-stairs, for the 
attics were cold in winter. Then he went off, leaving 
Florent alone, opposite the photograph, 

Auguste was only another Quenu ; Augustine an 
unripe Lisa. Florent, liked by these young men, adored 
by his brother, and quietly accepted by Lisa, was, in fact, 
utterly ennuye. He had endeavored to obtain pupils, but 
without success, particularly, as out of fear of being recog- 
nized, he did not dare apply at any schools. 

Lisa gently suggested that he should apply to some 
mercantile houses for a position as corresponding clerk. 
She adhered to this idea, and finally offered to look for 
such a situation herself, as she began to feel a certain 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


85 


annoyance at finding him lounging about, and always 
under her feet. At first she felt only a mild dislike for a 
person who folded his arms, and waited for the bread to 
fall into his mouth. She had not yet begun to reproach 
him in her own mind for eating of their food. 

“ I could not swallow a mouthful,^’ she would say, “ if 
I dreamed all day long, as you do. It would take away 
my appetite.’’ 

Gavard also looked for a situation for Florent, but his 
efforts were made in the most mysterious way. He wished, 
beside, to find something dramatic, some employment 
especially suited to ^^a convict.” 

Gavard was a man of the Opposition. He was not 
much over fifty, but he boasted of having seen four govern- 
ments : Charles X. — the Priests — and the Xobles, he stig- 
matized as rabble. Louis Philippe was an imbecile, with 
his Bourgeois talk, and he told the story of the woollen hose 
in which the Citizen King concealed his money ; as to the 
Republic of ’48, it was a farce wherein the workmen had 
been deceived. He did not say, however, that he approved 
of the Second of December, because he now regarded 
Napoleon III. as his personal enemy — a man who shut 
himself up with De Morny and that crew,” to commit all 
sorts of enormities. 

He was extremely diffuse on this point, and dropped 
his voice, as he affirmed, that every night close carriages, 
filled with women, drove to the Tuileries, and that he 
himself had often heard the noise of their orgies. 

Gavard’s religion was to be as disagreeable as possible 


86 


THE MARKETS OF TARIS. 


to the Government. He voted for the candidate which 
would be most embarrassing to the Ministry, and did his 
best to lead the police astray in any of their political inves- 
tigations, and to give them a most incendiary character. 
He talked with an air of great importance, as if the 
Tuileries set had known and trembled before him, and 
swore he could have half of them guillotined, and the 
other half transported. All his noisy, political chatter 
was pervaded by the same spirit, which induces a Parisian 
shop-keeper to open his shutters on a day of a fight at the 
barricades, to see the dead bodies. Consequently, when 
Florent returned from Cayenne, he immediately set him- 
self to plan some way in which he might safely flout at the 
Emperor and Ministry, and at all the men in office, down 
to the very Sergeants in the police force. 

Gavard gloried in Elorent^s companionship. It was 
like a forbidden pleasure. He winked at him, and told 
him the simplest thing in a sepulchral whisper ; and 
pressed his hand in the most significant way. 

At last he had an adventure ; he had a companion who was 
really compromised, and he was now able, without making 
his statement out of whole cloth, to talk of the danger that 
he run. He felt a certain fear withal, in the face of this 
man who had escaped from prison, and w^hose haggard 
face and worn frame told of sufferings and privations ; but 
this fear was delicious after all, and convinced him that 
he had really done an astonishing thing, in welcoming, 
as a friend, a man who was as compromising as Florent. 
Florent was now sacred to him. He swore by Florent, 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 


87 


and Florent’s name rose to his lips whenever he wished 
to give an instance of the importance of the Government. 

Gavard had lost his wife some months after the Coup 
d’fltat; but he kept his cook-shop until 1856. At this 
time the belief was current that he had made considerable 
money, in connection with a grocer in the neighborhood, 
by furnishing dried fruits to the army in the East ; but 
the truth was that, after he sold out his business, he, for a 
year, lived on his income. But he did not care to allude 
to the origin of his fortune, for it prevented him from 
expressing his opinion of the Crimean war, which he stig- 
matized ^^as an adventurous expedition, invented merely 
to consolidate the throne and fill certain pockets.” 

At the end of a year, he was frightfully bored by his 
bachelor life and quarters, and as he was in the habit of 
calling on the Quenu-Gradelles’ almost daily, he ended 
by establishing himself very near them. Then the Halles 
fascinated him, and he determined to take a stall in the 
poultry market, merely to fill up the emptiness of his days, 
and to hear all the gossip of the market. 

Here he was in his element, and enjoyed the constant 
chatter immensely. 

Florent often went there to see him. The middle of 
the day was still warm. The women sat picking their 
poultry in the sunshine — the feathers looking like snow 
falling from their fingers. Questions and entreaties 
followed Florent as he walked through the narrow path. 

^^A fine pair of ducks, sir ? Come, and let me show 
you chickens as fat as butter. Won^t you buy this pair 
of pigeons?” 


88 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


He passed on with a half impatient frown, and the 
women picked all the faster. The thick down filled the 
air, already heavy with the odor of the poultry. 

About the middle of the alley, near the fountain, was 
Gavard in his shirt-sleeves, his arm folded over the bib 
of his blue apron, holding forth to ten or more women 
over whom he reigned, he being the only man in the 
poultry market. 

He had quarrelled with five or six girls, one after the 
other, whom he had employed to keep his stall, and 
finally decided to sell his merchandise himself, saying, 
that these fools spent their whole day in chattering. 
As it was necessary, however, that some one should take 
his place when he was away, he engaged Marjolin, who 
was generally out of a situation. Florent was always 
amused and always astonished, at Gavard’s incessant 
chatter, and at his entire self-possession among all these 
petticoats — interrupting one, quarrelling with another ten 
stalls ofP, making more noise himself, than did all the 
others put together. 

Gavard’s family consisted only of a sister-in-law and a 
niece. When his wife died, her elder sister, Madame 
Lecoeur, who had been a widow for a year, was perfectly 
inconsolable, and went every evening, to console the 
bereaved and miserable husband. She unquestionably 
had at that time the idea of becoming the successor of the 
dear deceased. But Gavard hated thin women, thin cats 
and thin dogs; and Madame Lecoeur, furious at seeing 
the comfortable fortune slip through her fingers, absolutely 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


89 


hated him, and soon learned to regard her brother-in-law 
as her absolute enemy. She occupied herself entirely 
with his comings and goings. When she saw him take 
this stall, only a few steps from the place, where she sold 
butter, cheese and eggs, she accused him of having done 
it merely to tease her and bring her ill-luck.” She 
made such a fuss, and took this so much to heart, that she 
ended by losing much of her custom. 

For some time she had with her the daughter of one of 
her sisters, a peasant woman. The child grew up in the 
midst of the market. As her family name was Sarriet, 
she was soon called La Sarriette.” At sixteen La Sar- 
riette was so bewilderingly beautiful, that gentlemen went 
to buy her cheese, merely to look at her. She cared little 
for these gentlemen ; she claimed to be of the people, and 
made her selection from among them. It was a Porter — 
whom this brunette, with a Virgin-like face and starry 
eyes — a porter whom she chose. At twenty she was 
established at the Halles as a fruit merchant, and her 
lover. Monsieur Jules, wore the freshest of blouses, and a 
velvet cap, and sauntered into the market late in the day. 
They lived together in la Eue Vauvilliirs, on the third 
floor of a great house. 

La Sarriette^s ingratitude was the last touch of bitterness 
in the cup of Madame Lecoeur, who reproached her niece 
vehemently. They quarrelled. The niece amused herself 
at her aunt’s expense with Monsieur Jules, who repeated 
all her witticisms at market. Gavard thought La Sar- 
riette very droll, and showed himself full of indulgence 


90 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


toward her. He tapped her on her cheek when he met 
her. She was plump, and had a skin like satin. 

One afternoon, as Florent was in the shop, greatly 
fatigued by the long walk he had taken, Marjolin came in. 
This great stolid fellow was Lisa^s especial prot%^. She 
said he was not bad in any way ; that he was a little 
dull, possibly, but that his strength was almost incredible; 
that he was a treasure to his employers. It was she who, 
insisting that he had neither father nor mother, had 
induced Gavard to take him into his employment. 

Lisa was at the counter, annoyed by the dirty shoes of 
Florent, which had left spots on the marble tessellated floor. 
Twice she had thrown down saw-dust. She smiled at 
Marjolin, who said, in a low, mysterious whisper, looking 
around to see that he was not heard : 

‘^Monsieur Gavard wishes me to say just these words to 
you. ^ Is there any danger, and can he talk with you on 
matters that you know of ? ’ ” 

Say to Monsieur Gavard that we shall expect him,” 
answered Lisa, so accustomed to his mysterious ways that 
she was quite undisturbed by them. 

But Marjolin still lingered, with adoring eyes flxed on 
the fair mistress of the establishment. Touched by this 
silent adoration, she said : 

‘^I hope you give entire satisfaction to Monsieur 
Gavard. He is a good man, and you must try and please 
him.” 

Yes, Madame Lisa.” 

She turned away to wait on a lady who had come to 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


91 


buy a pounfl of Cotelettes aux cornichons, Slie left ibe 
counter, and went to the chopping-block at the back of the 
shop, where, with a sharp knife, she cut three cutlets from 
a piece of pork. Then, with a wooden mallet, she gave 
the cutlets each, three sharp, decisive blows. All this 
Lisa did with rather a serious air. 

When the lady was gone, Lisa was astonished to see 
that Marjolin was still there. 

“ What! not gone ? she said. 

He turned to depart, but she detained him. 

“ Listen to me,’^ she said, hastily. “ I saw you and 
Cadine together again this morning, and I really cannot 
understand how a good-looking fellow like yourself can 
waste so much time, or be seen with that little scapegrace. 
That is all ; go quickly and tell Monsieur Gavard that he 
can come here at once, while there is no one here.” 

Marjolin went off with an air of confusion, while ‘Ma 
belle Lisa” stood leaning on her counter, and looking out 
toward the Halles. 

Florent gazed at her, wonderstruck at her beauty. 
Before her, on white china plates, were sausages from 
Arles and Lyons; tongues, and small square bits of salt 
pork; a pig^s head, surrounded with jelly; boxes of 
sardines, floating in oil ; blood-red hams, and hams that 
were pale rose in hue; galantine truffer; boars’ heads aux 
pistaches; and in yellow pots, pat6 de foie and pat^ de 
li^vre. 

As Gavard did not come, she mechanically rearranged 
these dishes, and then again waited. The whiteness of 


92 


THE MAEKETS OF PARIS. 


her cuffs and her apron rivalled the whiteness of her 
dishes. 

, Florent looked at her reflection in the mirrors ; even on 
jthe ceiling he saw her — he was, in fact, surrounded with 
a crowd of Lisas, all as plump and as placid, as the meats 
before her. 

Gavard appeared, and at once went to find Quenu in 
the kitchen, and then, returning to the shop, he announced 
in the presence of Lisa, Quenu and Florent, that he had 
found a situation for the latter. He interrupted himself, 
however, in the full tide of his discourse, on seeing 
Mademoiselle Saget appear. She, from the sidewalk, had 
caught a glimpse of the little circle. The old lady, in her 
faded dress, and carrying, as usual, her shabby black 
reticule, wearing a black straw bonnet, guiltless of ribbons, 
which threw a heavy shadow on her pale face, smiled at 
Lisa and bowed slightly to the men. 

This little old lady was an enigma to the neighborhood, 
although she had lived forty years in la Rue Pirouette. 
She never said where she came from, though once she 
made an incautious allusion to Cherbourg, as if she 
were born there ; but this was all, no one knew more. She 
talked incessantly, but only of other people — knew the 
most intimate details of their daily life; peeped into the 
letters, and listened at the doors of her neighbors. 

Her tongue was dreaded throughout the Quartier where 
she roamed all day long with her empty reticule, pretending 
that she was buying her provisions, but in reality buying 
nothing, but picking up all sorts of gossip. Quenu had 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


93 


always declared her to be the person who had spread the 
story of Uncle Gradelle^s dying in the kitchen. She had 
always felt an extreme interest in Uncle Gradelle and the 
Quenus, and for a fortnight had suiFered agonies of 
curiosity from Florenfs arrival. She felt certain that she 
had seen him somewhere. She stood before the counter, 
and looked first at one dish and then at another. 

declare,’’ she said, ^^it is impossible to know what to 
eat now-a-days‘. I really have no appetite. Have you any 
breaded cutlets, Madame Quenu ? ” 

Without waiting for a reply, she raised a cover. 

Yes, Mademoiselle Saget,” said Lisa, think I have 
one cutlet left.” 

‘^Well, never mind,” said the old lady, think a 
breaded cutlet is almost too heavy this evening. Besides, 
I should rather have something I should not be obliged to 
warm up.” 

She drew nearer Florent as she spoke, and looked first 
at him and then at Gavard, who was beating a devil’s 
tattoo on the marble table. 

Why don’t you have a bit of this salt pork ? ” asked 
Lisa. 

A bit of pork — ^yes — I suppose ” — and she took”up a 
fork and tried the thickness of each piece in the plate 
— ^^and yet I do not know.” 

^^Then take a tongue — a bit of the head or a slice of 
larded veal,” answered Lisa, patiently. But Mademoi- 
selle Saget shook her head, and made a little face of disgust 
at each one of the dishes, and coming to the conclusion 
6 


94 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


that she should discover nothing, she departed, saying she 
should come in another day. 

Lisa watched her cross the street, and enter a fruit 
stall ; and then- turning to Gavard, she said, quietly: 

^^Go on.” 

Gavard began to describe the place he had found for 
Florent. There was quite a little story attached to it. 
One of his friends. Monsieur Valoque, Inspector of Fish, 
was out of health, and was obliged to take a vacation. 
The poor man had said to him that very morning that he 
wished to find a substitute himself, so that in case he was 
cured, he could have his place back again. 

You understand,” said Gavard, ‘Ghat in my opinion, 
Valoque won’t live six months. If Florent is satisfac- 
tory, he can keep the place, and it will be delicious to 
bamboozle the police. Think of Florent having money 
from these people.” 

This view of the situation struck him as so deliciously 
comic that he burst into a shout of laughter. 

“ I do not wish this position,” said Florent. “ I have 
sworn to accept nothing from the Empire. I would die 
with hunger rather than do it. It is absolutely impossi- 
ble, Gavard, do you hear?” 

Gavard heard, and was far from pleased. Quenu was 
silent also, but Lisa turned and looked at Florent, whose 
nostrils dilated with indignation as he spoke. 

At this moment. La Sarriette came. 

“I forgot to buy some pork,” she cried. “Madame 
Quenu, cut me twelve slips, very slender, for my larks. 
Jules wants some larks to-day.” 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


95 


She beemed to fill the shop with her rustling skirts. 
She smiled at every one in succession. Gavard took her 
hand in his, and she said, boldly ; 

You were talking of me. Uncle, when I came in ; I 
know it well.” 

Lisa called her; 

^^Are these slips slender enough?” she said. And as 
she wrapped them in paper, she added ; Do you want 
anything else ?” 

“ Yes, as long as I am here, you may give me a pound 
of leaf lard, for I adore fried potatoes. My best break- 
fast is a bunch of radishes, and two sous worth of fried 
potatoes.” 

Lisa put a sheet of stout paper on the scales. She took 
the lard from a pot with a wooden spatula, and weighed 
out the pound. She gave the paper a deft twist. 

^'Twenty-four sous,” she said. "Is there anything 
more?” 

La Sarriette shook her head and laughed, with a 
glance at the men. She wore a shabby gray gown and 
a red fichu, loosely knotted around her throat. Before 
she went out, she shook her finger lightly at Gavard, 
saying : 

"Then you wonft tell me what you were talking about 
when ]l^came in ? I saw you all laughing. I think you 
very selfish to keep all your fun to yourself.” 

She left the shop, and ran across the street. "La belle 
Lisa” said, dryly: 

" Mademoiselle Saget sent her ! ” 


96 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


Gavard was considerably disturbed by Florent’s recep- 
tion of his proposition, and would not speak. It was Lisa 
who broke the silence by saying, in a friendly voice : 

You are wrong, Florent, in refusing this position. 
You know how hard it is to find employment in these 
days. You should not be so fastidious.” 

I have given my reasons,” he answered. 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

‘‘Yes,” she replied, “ I know very well that you do not 
like the Government; but that is no reason why you 
should refuse to earn your bread. And, after all, the 
Emperor is not a bad man. My dear, do you suppose he 
knew that you eat mouldy bread and spoiled meat? He 
can^t know everything, of course. You are unjust.” 

Gavard rebelled at hearing these faint praises of the 
Emperor. 

“ No, no, Madame Quenu ! ” he exclaimed. “ You are 
going too far. Tliey are a set of rascals.” 

“ Oh ! ” interrupted Lisa, “ you are never happy un- 
less you are talking politics, and I hate them ; they al- 
ways make me angry. Beside, they have nothing to do 
with Florent. What have you to say, Quenu?” 

Quenu cautiously replied to his wife^s abrupt questions : 

“ It would be a very good thing, perhaps.” 

And another long silence fell on the little circle. 

“ Pray,” said Florent, at last — “ pray, say no more about 
this. My mind is made up. I will wait.” 

“ You will wait ! ” cried Lisa, out of all patience. 

The color rose to her cheeks, and she clenched her hands 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


97 


over her white apron to restrain her quick words. Another 
person came in at the same moment. It was Madame 
Lecceur. 

‘‘Can you give me a mixed plate for fifty sous per 
pound ? she said, pretending not to see her brother-in- 
law as she spoke. Afterward she gave him a careless nod, 
and then scrutinized the three men, hoping, perhaps, to 
discover from their expressions, the wonderful secret they 
were discussing. She saw that she was intruding; but 
she enjoyed the knowledge, which only made her more 
rigid and angular in her scanty skirts. Her spider-like 
arms and bony hands were folded under her apron. She 
coughed slightly. 

“You have a cold,” said Gavard, in order to break the 
awkward silence. 

She answered with a curt “ No.” Her skin was brick- 
red where it was stretched over her high cheek-bones. 
This, and a certain odd look about her eyes and lids, 
indicated some disease of the liver. 

She turned to the counter watched by Lisa, who had 
not the most absolute faith in the honesty of her customer. 

“Do not give me any of the brains,” said Madame 
Lecoeur. “ I do not like them.” 

Lisa had taken a sharp knife and cut some slices of 
sausage. She then went to the smoked ham, and to that 
which was only salted, and took off some delicate pieces. 
Her white dimpled hands performed their task deftly. 
She lifted a cover, and said: 

“ Do you want some of the larded veal ? ” 


98 


THE MAKKETS OF PARIS. 


Madame Lecceur deliberated for a few moments upon 
this weighty point, and then nodded an assent. 

Lisa took out a slice of larded veal, and then of a pat4 
of harems feet, and she laid each slice on the paper on the 
scales. 

You have not given me any of the boar’s head aux 
pistaches,” said Madame Lecceur, in her disagreeable 
voice. 

Lisa was willing to give some of the boar’s head ; but 
when the woman insisted on two slices of galantine, she 
became impatient, and told her frankly that the galantine 
had truffles, and she could only add it to the mixed plates, 
which she sold at a higher price. 

When the things were weighed, the woman insisted on 
a slice of jelly and some pickled cucumbers, which Lisa, 
with hands trembling with indignation, added impatiently. 

‘^It is twenty-five sous, I believe,” said Madame 
Lecceur, enjoying Lisa’s irritation, and slowly pulling out 
her sous from her pocket, and glaring at Gavard, who 
was swearing under his breath at her prolonged stay. At 
last she departed, with one long, lingering look. 

As soon as she had gone, Lisa burst out : 

^^And La Saget sent her, too. I wonder if that old 
woman intends to send all the Halles here, to find out 
what we are saying ? How silly they are ! Who ever 
heard of buying such things as breaded cutlets and mixed 
plates at this hour ? But they would rather give them- 
selves a fit of indigestion than not know. But if La Saget 
sends in any one else, you will see what I will do ! ” 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


99 


Before Lisa’s anger, the two men were silent. Gavard 
was playing with a bit of the railing around the counter. 
He said slowly, to Florent : 

Don’t you see that these scamps have nearly starved 
you? Very well; now let them feed you. This idea 
delights me.” 

Florent smiled, but still shook his head. 

Quenu, to please his wife, uttered a few faint words 
of entreaty ; but Lisa did not seem to hear. She was 
looking intently out toward the Halles. Suddenly, she 
exclaimed : 

^^Ah ! they have sent ^ La Norraande,’ now. Very well; 
La Normande shall pay for all the others ! ” 

A tall brunette entered the door. It was the pretty | 
fish-woman, Louise Mehuden, known as La NormandeJ 
There was a touch of boldness in her beauty, although her 
skin was very pale and delicate. She was as tall as Lisa, 
but her bust was fuller. She entered in an off-hand sort 
of way, with a gold-chain dangling over her apron, her 
hair fashionably dressed, and a knot of lace and ribbon at 
her throat. She brought with her a fresh salt odor, 
almost like the sea, and had on one of her hands a 
herring-scale, which caught the light like an opal. The 
two women had been intimate friends for a long time, 
although they were also rivals. They called one la belle 
Norraande,” the other ‘Ga belle Lisa,” and instituted 
constant comparisons between the two. 

Lisa, where she stood, could see the fish-woman among 
her salmon and turbots. The two women watched each 


100 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


other closely ; la belle Lisa drew her corset-lacing tighter, 
la belle Normande added rings to her fingers and ribbons 
to her dress. When the two met, they were very sweet 
and very complimentary j each watching the other fur- 
tively, and taking in the detail of the costume worn by 
the other. 

^^Is it to-morrow that you make your black pudding 
asked La Norraande, gayly. 

Lisa was slow to anger, but not easily soothed. 

She answered, “Yes,” in one brief monosyllable. 

“ Because,” continued the other, “ I adore it when it is 
hot. I shall come for some.” 

She realized the lack of cordiality in her rival’s 
manner. She looked at Florent with an air of interest ; 
then, as she did not wish to depart without saying some- 
thing, slie had the rashness to add : 

“ The last I bought of you was not fresh.” 

“ Yot fresh ! ” answered the mistress of the establish- 
ment, white with indignation. She might have restrained 
herself but for that knot of ribbon. Was it not enough, 
she thought, that she must be spied and watched — she 
must also be insulted ! She placed her hands on her 
counter, and in a voice that was hoarse with anger, she 
said, slowly : 

“ Tell me ; last week, when you sold me a pair of soles, 
did I say before everybody that they smelled badly?” 

“ Smelled badly ! My soles ! ” cried the fish- woman, 
flushed and breathless. 

The two women fairly glared at each other. All their 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


101 


beautiful friendship had vanished. A word sufficed to 
show their sharp teeth under their smiles. 

‘‘You are an insulting creature!” said la belle Yor- 
mande. “If ever I put my foot here again you will 
know it.” 

“All right ! ” answered la belle Lisa. 

The fish-woman went out, uttering a sentence which 
left Lisa trembling. 

The scene passed so rapidly that the three men had no 
time to interfere. Lisa soon regained her self-control, and 
entered into conversation, without making any allusion to 
what had taken place. She told Gavard that he had best 
say nothing to Monsieur Yaloque for two or three days. 
Quenu went back to his kitchen, and Gavard took Florent 
off with him to get a glass of Vermont; they saw in the 
distance three women — Madame Lecoeur, Mademoiselle 
Saget, and La Sarriette, talking together, very busily. 

The old maid was holding forth : 

“ As I was telling you, Madame Lecoeur, your brother- 
in-law is forever in their shop. You have seen him, 
have you not ? ” 

“Oh, certainly; he was sitting on a table — ” 

“ I,” interrupted La Sarriette, “ I could not hear one 
word. I can’t imagine what you expected me to hear.” 

Mademoiselle Saget shrugged her shoulders. 

“You have no idea, I suppose, why these people are so 
very attentive to Monsieur Gavard. In my opinion, they 
mean him to leave all he possesses to little Pauline.” 

“Do you think that?” cried Madame Lecoeur, turning 
pale. 


102 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


Then in a gasping tone, as if she had received a dagger- 
thrust, she said : 

am all alone — this man can do, of course, just as he 
pleases — his niece and he are good friends — she has 
already forgotten what she has cost me.” 

‘‘No, indeed, aunt,” said La Sarriette, “I have for- 
gotten nothing; it is you who have never had anything 
but harsh words for me.” 

They were at once reconciled — the niece promised to be 
more considerate, and the aunt swore that she regarded 
Sarriette as her own daughter. Then Mademoiselle pro- 
ceeded to give them advice as to the manner in which they 
should behave to prevent Gavard from wasting his prop- 
erty. It was decided that the Quenu-Gradelles did not 
amount to much, and that they had best be carefully 
watched. 

“ Something is going on,” said the old lady, “ but what 
I can’t yet tell. This Florent — this cousin of Madame 
Quenu’s — what do you think of him ? ” 

The three women put their heads close together. 

“You know very well,” said Lecoeur, “that we saw 
him one morning with holes in his shoes, and ragged 
clothes, all covered with dust. He really frightens me.” 

“Nonsense,” murmured La Sarriette, “he is thin, very 
thin ; but he is a good man all the same.” 

Mademoiselle Saget reflected. 

“ I have been trying to find this out for a fortnight. I 
am certain that Monsieur Gavard knew him ; in fact I feel 
as if I had seen him somewhere.” 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


103 


She was still cudgelling her memory, when La Nor- 
mande swept down upon them like an avalanche. 

She is a civil creature, certainly, that Quenu woman,” 
she cried. Will you believe that she told me that I sold 
stinking fish! Just think of that! — while their own 
spoiled pork poisons everybody ! ” 

What did you say to her?” asked the old woman, de- 
lighted to hear that the two friends had quarrelled. 

‘‘ I ? Nothing — not a word. I just went in to engage 
some pudding for to-morrow night, and she insulted me — 
miserable hypocrite, with all her mild airs! But she shall 
pay more dearly for this than she thinks for ! ” 

The three women felt instinctively that La Norraande 
was not telling the truth, but they were none the less ready 
to espouse her quarrel. They turned up la Rue Rambu- 
teau, busy with the invention of some story which should 
injure the Quenus. 

^^But what did the cousin say?” asked Mademoiselle 
Saget. 

The cousin ! ” answered La Normande, sharply. You 
believe in that cousin, do you ? He is much more likely 
to be a lover.” 

The three others exclaimed at this, for Lisa^s propriety 
of conduct had passed into a proverb in the Quartier. 

‘‘Oh! I mean what I say; these women who have that 
touch-rae-not look, are no better than others, let me tell 
you.” 

Mademoiselle Saget nodded, as if to say that she agreed 
with this opinion. She said, insinuatingly; 


104 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 


be sure this cousin seems to have fallen from the 
skies. And the Quenus^ account of him does not hang 
together very well.’^ 

‘‘ He is her lover, I tell you ! ” reiterated the fish- 
woman — some fellow she has picked up in the street.” 

She has given him an entire new suit of clothes,” said 
Madame Lecoeur. He must cost her a pretty penny.” 

The women immediately began to discuss all that went 
on in the Quenu-Gradelle menage. Madame Lecoeur 
declared that she would open her brother’s eyes in regard 
to the character of the house he frequented. La Normande 
grew a little calmer, and ashamed of what she had said, 
left her friends abruptly. 

When she had departed, Madame Lecoeur said : 

am sure that La Norrnande was insolent, for it is a 
way she has. She had best not speak of Lisa’s cousin, for 
people will be apt to remember that she found a baby one 
fine morning in her fish-stall!” 

They looked at each other and laughed. When Madame 
Lecoeur left in her turn. La Sarriette said : 

wish my aunt would let all these people alone. 
She grows thin fussing about her neighbors’ affairs. She 
always beat me if a man looked at me ; but she need have 
no fear. She will never find any brat under her bed 1 ” 

Mademoiselle Saget laughed delightedly, and when she 
was alone, she said, half aloud, that these people were not 
worth the cord to hang them with. 

She hurried down the street until she reached the 
Bakery, kept by a certain Madame Taboureau, who was a 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


105 


handsome woman, and a friend of Lisa’s ; also, a great 
authority on all subjects. When any one said: 

Madame Taboureau said this! ” “ Madame Taboureau 
said that ! ” there was no further discussion. 

Mademoiselle Saget inquired when the oven would be 
hot, that she might have a dish of pears baked, and then 
said many nice things of Lisa — extolling her exquisite 
neatness and the superiority of all the things she sold at 
her shop. 

Then quite pleased with this moral alibi, and enchanted 
at the coming battle which she sniffed afar off, she started 
home — her mind dwelling pertinaciously on the image of 
Madame Quenu’s cousin. 

That same evening after dinner Florent went out, and 
walked for some time in one of the covered streets of the 
Halles. A fine fog was rising, filling the -empty places 
with a gray sadness, pierced at intervals with the yellow 
gas. For the first time he felt himself to be in the way; 
he realized the inopportune fashion in which he had fallen 
into this fat and comfortable little circle. He said to 
himself that he had disturbed the whole Quartier — that 
he embarrassed his brother and his brother’s wife, and that 
they found it difficult to carry their contraband cousin. 
These reflections rendered him very sad — not that he felt 
his brother or Lisa to be unkind in any way ; he thought 
them only too kind. But he accused himself of a want of 
delicacy in quartering himself upon them. Doubts dis- 
turbed him. The recollection of the conversation in the 
shop made him uncomfortable, although he did not know 


106 


THE MARKETS OF PARTS. 


precisely why. Perhaps he was wrong in refusing the 
position which had been offered. This thought was bitter 
to him, and he wondered if he should be compelled to act 
contrary to his convictions. Here a damp blast of wind 
compelled him to button his overcoat, and blew away the 
enervating atmosphere of the luxurious eating-house with 
which his garments were filled. He turned to go home, 
when he met Claude Lantier face to face. The painter, 
buttoned to the chin in his shabby coat, was in a state of 
great rage. He swore that his life was that of a dog, and 
that he would never touch a pencil again, as long as he 
lived. That afternoon he had kicked a hole through a 
study he had made of Cadine’s head. He was subject to 
these attacks — common to all artists who feel their in- 
ability to execute the w^orks of which they dream. At 
such times he wandered like a madman through the 
streets, saw everything through a glass darkly — dreamed 
that the end of all was at hand; and looked forward 
to the morrow as to a resurrection. 

riorent with difficulty recognized the gay flaneur whom 
he had met on that memorable morning, on his arrival in 
Paris, and seen often since. Claude knew his history, and 
was always cordial when they chanced to meet; but he 
rarely went to the Quenus’. 

‘^You are still at my Aunt’s ?” said Claude. ^^Well! 
it passes my comprehension how you can stand that smell 
of cooking. If I stay there an hour, I feel as if I were 
overfed, and had eaten enough for three days. I made a 
mistake in going in there to-day. I lost an hour or two.” 


THE MAEKETS OF PAETS. 


107 


After a moment’s silence, he continued : 

They are good people, too ! But they look so well 
and hearty that they really make me uncomfortable. 
They wanted me to paint their pictures; but how on 
earth can I draw faces in which there is not a bone! 
Aunt Lisa would never have been as silly as I have been 
to-day ; and now I think of it, I don’t believe that head 
was so bad after all I ” 

Then they talked of Aunt Lisa. Claude said that his 
mother rarely saw her now. He believed that Lisa was a 
little ashamed, that her sister should have married a com- 
mon working man. Besides, she had little sympathy for 
people who were unfortunate. As for himself, he had had 
one stroke of luck. A good man had fallen in love with 
him — a child of eight — and with the animals and figures 
he drew, and had sent him to school ; and when he died, 
had left him a small yearly income of a thousand francs, 
which at least prevented him from starving. 

‘‘ But I wish, nevertheless,” he continued, that I had 
learned a trade ; that of a cabinet-maker, for example. 
They are a happy class. They have a table to make. 
They make it, and they go to bed, glad they have finished 
their work, and perfectly satisfied with it and themselves. 
Now I never sleep at night. All these confounded studies 
I have made buzz about in my head. I am never done — 
never at rest — ” 

His voice broke. He tried to laugh, and then uttered 
an oath, trying to find the most atrocious language, with the 
wild rage of a man, whose nature is delicate and refined, 
but who feels that he has made a great mistake of life. 


108 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


Suddenly he stopped short and pointed down into one 
of the cellars of the Halles, where a gas-light was kept 
burning continually. He had caught a glimpse of Mar- 
jolin and Cadine calmly sleeping. These scamps had 
found a way to enter these places after the gratings had been 
put down. 

Now look at that animal,” cried Claude. Did you 
ever see more perfect animal beauty ? ” And in the voice 
of the painter there was a tone of absolute envy. ‘‘They 
are as happy as pigs. They make their supper oft' of 
apples, and then they go to sleep in one of those baskets 
full of chickens’ feathers. After all, you have done well, 
perhaps, to stay at Aunt Lisa’s. You can’t help growing 
fat there ! ” 

And he walked off sulkily. Florent went up to his 
attic, restless and uncertain. The next day he went out 
early and took a long walk. At breakfast he was greatly 
comforted by Lisa’s gentleness. She spoke of the place 
which had been offered to him, but very quietly, as of a 
matter which required consideration. He listened, leaving 
his untouched plate before Iiim. He was carried away by 
the dazzling cleanliness of the room, by the softness of the 
mat under his feet, by the fresh paper and glittering 
varnish. He wondered what was true, and what was 
false. Yet he had strength to repeat his refusal, at the 
same time quite conscious of the bad taste of which he 
was guilty in making such a brutal display of his resent- 
ments and rancor in such a peaceful, comfortable spot as 
this. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


109 


Lisa was not angry. She smiled with that lovely smile 
which embarrassed Florent even more, than her irritation 
of the previous evening. At dinner they talked only of 
the immense amount of labor which would be necessary to 
get in all their winter stock. 

The evenings were now cold. As soon as they had/ 
dined, they went into the kitchen, where it was always 
warm, and so large, that a number of persons could be 
comfortable there, around a square table, placed in the 
centre. The walls of the room were covered with plaques 
of blue faience. On the left was the great furnace, with 
its three holes, in which stood three pots, blackened with 
soot and constant use, and further off was a little stove, \ 
where all the broiling was done, and above was a row of 
shelves, on which stood or hung long-handled spoons, 
strainers, skimmers, colanders, and row upon row of 
drawers, all labelled, wherein were kept bread-crumbs, 
coarse and fine ; mustard, pepper and salt, spices, cloves 
and nutmegs. On the right was the chopping-table, an 
enormous block of oak against the wall, all seamed and 
scarred, while several machines, whose uses were unknown 
to a casual observer, stood near by, their wheels and their 
general aspect giving a look of diabolical mystery to the 
place. Piles of sauce-pans, of tin and copper, stood in 
every corner, all delicately clean; small saws and larding 
needles hung side by side. In spite of the absolute 
cleanliness of the place, there was a smell of grease which 
permeated the very walls, and reddened the bricks on the 
floor, and polished, the edges of the chopping-block until 
7 


110 


THE MAKKETS OF PARIS. 


r 



it looked as if it had been varnished. And it seemed as 
if in this constant evaporation from the three pots, where 
so many pigs had been boiled, that from every nail in the 
room and every plank in the wall oozed grease. 

The Quenu-Gradelles did everything themselves. They 
bought nothing, except sardines, cheeses, conserves and 
pat^s, from a celebrated house. Consequently, September 
to them was a busy month. They then filled the cellar, 
which they had emptied during the summer. Quenu, 
assisted by Auguste and L6on, made his sausages, pre- 
pared his hams, and rendered his lard. There was a 
formidable noise of frying and sizzling — of chopping and 
pounding, and the smell of cooking filled the whole 
neighborhood. 

The night of which we write it was late — eleven o’clock. 
Quenu, who had been busy with two huge pots of lard, 
now occupied himself with the pudding. Auguste was 
helping him. At the corner of the table, Lisa and Au- 
gustine were mending linen, while opposite, Florent was 
playing with little Pauline — L^on was chopping meat for 
sausages with slow and regular blows. 

Auguste went to the court-yard, and brought in two 
huge jugs of hogs’ blood. It was Auguste who killed the 
animals at the abattoir, and brought the blood home him- 
self, leaving the carcasses to be dressed and sent home 
in the regular wagons. 

Quenu declared that there was no one in Paris who 
knew the quality of pig’s blood as did Auguste. If 
Auguste said : “ The pudding will be good,” the pudding 
was good. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


Ill 


How will it be to-night ? asked Lisa. 

“I think it will be excellent, Madame. I can tell by 
the way the blood runs. When I pull out the knife, if 
the blood runs slowly, it is not a good sign ; it shows that 
the blood is poor — 

But,’^ interrupted Quenu, that all depends on how 
deep you put in the knife.” 

Auguste’s pale, fat face relaxed into a smile. 

“No,” he answered, “I always put my knife in, three 
fingers deep — that is the rule. The blood should be thick 
while it is warm, but not coagulated.” 

Augustine dropped her needle, and looked at her future 
husband with fixed attention. Her suffused face, with its 
close bands of chestnut hair, was full of interest. Even 
little^Pauline listened. 

“ I beat it up with my hand,” continued the young roan, 
moving his fingers as if he were beating a syllabub. 
“ Then I look at my hand, and it must be the same color 
all over, with a greasy look. Then I say to myself: 
‘Yes, it will be a good pudding.’” 

He looked at his hand complacently. This hand, which 
was so constantly thrust into buckets of blood, was pink 
and delicate, with polished nails. Quenu nodded — L4on 
chopped on — Pauline climbed on her cousin’s knees. 

“ Tell me the story,” she cried, “ of the gentleman who 
was eaten by the beasts ! ” 

This talk about the blood had apparently awakened in 
the child’s mind the remembrance of this story. 

Florent did not understand, but Lisa laughed. 


112 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


Don’t you remember what you were telling Gavard 
one night? The child must have heard you.” 

Florent became very grave. The child took in her 
arms the huge yellow cat, and put it on her cousin’s knees, 
saying that Monton wished to hear the story. But Mon- 
ton jumped on the table, and sat there with back well up, 
watching the tall, thin man, who for the last two weeks 
had apparently afforded him much food for reflection. 

Pauline kicked and plunged, in her impatience to hear 
the story. 

Pray, tell her,” said Lisa, and she may let us have 
some peace ! ” 

Florent sat with his eyes fixed on the ground. He 
slowly raised them, looked first at the two women placidly 
sewing, and then at Quenu and Auguste, who were Scald- 
ing a pot for the pudding. The gas burned evenly — the 
heat of the furnace was very delightful, and the aspect of 
the room one of intense comfort. 

Florent lifted Pauline, and as he placed her on his knees 
began to talk to her : 

There was once a very poor man — he was sent far 
away to the other side of the sea. Upon the ship which 
took him away, there were four hundred for9ats, with 
whom he was to live five weeks. He was devoured by 
fleas, and killed by the heat and bad air. Fifty were 
allowed to go on deck at a time, and two cannons were 
brought to bear full on them, for no little fear was felt of 
these men. The poor fellow I am telling you about was 
very happy when it came his turn — he had lost his 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 113 

appetite, and could not sleep, and at night when he thought 
he could not be heard, he wept his eyes out.” 

Pauline listened, with wide-open eyes, and hands closely 
folded. 

“ That is not the story I mean,” she said, not the story 
of the man who was eaten by the beasts.” 

“ Wait,” said Florent, gently, I am coming to it.” 

^^Go on,” murmured the child, in a contented tone; 
then her little forehead contracted, and with a puzzled air 
she said : 

‘^But what had the poor man done, that they sent him 
away in the big boat?” 

Lisa and Augustine smiled. The child’s quick intelli- 
gence delighted them. Lisa took advantage of tlie cir- 
cumstance to point a moral. She said that children too 
were sent away in the boat, if they were not good. 

Then,” remarked Pauline, judiciously, ‘^my cousin’s 
poor man was, very wise to cry in the night, when no one 
could see him !” 

Lisa lifted her eyebrows, and went on with her sewing. 
Some onions were slowly frying on the fire, with a con- 
tented little noise, like that made by crickets basking in 
the heat, and Leon had not finished his chopping. 

When they arrived,” continued Florent, “ they took 
the man to an island called I’lle du Liable, and there he 
found some friends, who had also been driven from their 
country. They were miserable, and obliged to work 
like convicts. They were counted three times each day 
by the guard, to be sure they were all there. At night 


114 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


they were shut up in a great barn-like building of 
wood. 

‘^At the end of a year they were nearly naked, and went 
barefoot. They had built huts out of logs, to shelter them 
from the heat of the sun, which is terrific there, but the 
huts could not keep out mosquitoes. Several died, and 
the others were so thin and yellow that they were enough 
to frighten any one.’' 

‘^Auguste, give me the lard,” cried Quenu; and when 
he held the dish, he dropped some of the lard slowly into 
the pot. 

‘‘But didn’t they have anything to eat?” asked the 
child, profoundly interested. 

“Yes — they had rice, full of worms, and meat that 
smelt badly,” answered Florent, in a sombre voice. “ They 
had to pick out the worms, to get at the rice, and the meat 
made them ill.” 

“But I should sooner have eaten dry bread,” said the 
child, contemplatively. 

Leon, having finished his chopping, put the platter con- 
taining the sausage-meat on the table. Mon ton was obliged 
to move, which he did with a very bad grace. Lisa made 
no attempt to conceal the disgust she felt ; the worms in 
the rice, and the ill-smelling meat, seemed in her eyes, to 
dishonor the man who had been compelled to eat them. 
There was almost a look of terror in her fair face as she 
contemplated the man who had been exposed to such 
horrors. 

“It was not certainly a delightful spot in which to 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 115 

reside/’ said Florent, forgetting the child on his knee, and 
speaking with intense bitterness. 

Each day there were new vexations, new violations of 
justice, new contempt for all human decency and charity, 
which exasperated the prisoners to a fever of vindictive 
rancor. They lived like wild beasts in a cage, with the 
whip constantly upheld over them. Such sufferings cannot 
be forgiven, — nor yet forgotten !” 

His voice dropped, and the lard and the onions sizzled 
gayly. But Lisa was startled at the ferocious expression 
of his countenance, and wondered if all his gentleness 
were altogether feigned, and if he were a hypocrite after 
all. 

But this fierce intonation in Florent’s voice was delight- 
ful to Pauline. She gave a frantic jump on her cousin’s 
knee. 

‘‘But the man, cousin; tell me about the man!” 

Florent looked down at the little one and smiled sadly. 

“ The man,” he said, “ did not like the island, and he 
determined to cross the sea, to reach the land which could 
just be seen on fair days. But this was not so easy, for 
he must build a raft, and where was he to get any wood ? 
The island was fairly stripped, and baked in the hot sun, 
for all the trees had been cut down for the use of the 
prisoners. The man finally determined to use the logs of 
which their huts were constructed, and one evening he 
and two of his comrades started forth. The wind blew 
them straight where they wished to go. Day was breaking 
when their poor raft ran on a sand bank, and came to 


116 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 


pieces. The three poor fellows were in the sand up to 
their waists^ and finally one went down to his chin, and 
the others pulled him out. With infinite difficulty they 
reached a rock, where they had barely place to sit. When 
the sun rose, they saw opposite them a line of bleak rocks. 
Two, who could swim, determined to make an effort to 
reach these rocks. They preferred to drown, rather than 
die of starvation. They promised their companion that 
if they lived, they would return for him with a boat.” 

^^Ah ! now I know,” cried Pauline, clapping her hands. 

You have got to my story of the gentleman who was 
eaten by beasts.” 

“They reached the rocks,” continued Florent, “but 
they were deserted, and they found no boat for four days. 
When they went back to the sand bank, they found their 
companion lying there with his feet and hands devoured, 
his intestines eaten away, and the cavity occupied by crabs, 
which were eating their way all through the body.” 

Lisa and Augustine uttered an exclamation of loathing. 
L6on, who was cutting some thin slivers of pork for the 
pudding, made a hideous face. Auguste and Quenu were 
positively ill. Pauline laughed vociferously. 

“ Give me that blood ! ” cried Quenu, at last. Auguste 
brought it, and poured it slowly into the pot, while Quenu 
stirred vigorously, and when it was all in, took down 
some spices, the odor of which filled the kitchen. 

“They left him there, of course,” said Lisa, “and how 
did they get away ? ” 

“As they came, of course,” answered Florent, “ but the 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 


117 


tvind rose, and the waves were something terrible. The 
water washed over them, and they emptied the boat with 
their hands. This lasted for three days, and they had not 
one mouthful to eat I 

Three days ! ” cried Lisa. Starving for three days ! ” 

“Yes, and when the wind at last changed and drove, 
them to the shore, one was so worn out that he died in a 
few hours. His companions tried to make him eat the 
leaves of the trees, as they did themselves.’^ 

Here Augustine laughed, and then in her confusion, 
unwilling that they should think her hard-hearted, 
she stammered : 

“It was not at that, Madame, I laughed. It was at 
Monton. Look at him, Madame.” 

Lisa laughed in her turn. Monton had gotten up, 
stretched his lazy length, and Jthen began to scratch the 
table furiously, as if he wished to cover up the platter of 
sausage meat. 

He then leisurely turned round, and lay down with 
half-shut eyes. Then everybody praised Monton. 
Everybody said that he never stole a mouthful. And 
Pauline told how after dinner he always licked her fingers. 

Lisa came back to the question of how a man could live 
three days without eating. 

“ I do not believe it,” she said. “ It is utterly impos- 
sible. I often hear that such and such a person is 
starving, but it is a mere fagon de parler. Everybody 
eats more or less. There may, of course, be occasionally 
some — ” 


118 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


She was probably about to say '^some poor wretch,” 
but she checked herself as she looked at Florent; her 
eyes clearly said, however, that only utterly disreputable 
persons could ever be exposed to such contingencies. 

Florent felt as if he were choking. The heat of the 
room was intense, and the smell of cooking overpowering. 

When the man had buried his comrade in the sand,” 
resumed Florent, ‘‘he went away all alone. Dutch 
Guiana, where he was, is a country of forests and rivers. 
The man wandered about for a week, without seeing a 
human being. He dared not eat the glowing fruits he 
saw, for he felt they were poisonous. 

“ For entire days he walked, under an arch of thickly 
interwoven branches, with never a gleam of the blue sky 
above. The green shadows were full of terror. Great 
birds flew over his head with a rush of wings, and sudden 
cries, like agonized shrieks. Monkeys chattered above his 
head, or leaped from branch to branch. Serpents glided 
among the dry leaves, and he saw slender heads and 
forked tongues among the monstrous roots. Certain damp 
corners were heaped high with moving things — black, 
yellow, brown, like dead leaves — who disappeared with a 
rustle as he drew near. His nights were full of horror, 
and he felt stifled among all the trees. The heat, aggra- 
vated by the dampness, was intolerable. At last, he 
beheld the sky again, and stood on the margin of a broad 
river ; huge crocodiles bathed in the sun, but even these 
were more reassuring than the forests he had passed 
through. He succeeded in getting across the river, only to 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


119 


find almost impassable forests again. Then came grassy 
plains with rank vegetation. Then a marsh in which he 
sank to his chin. The moon was rising, and after strug- 
gling out of the mud, he lay for an hour or two without 
moving. When, at last, he reached a habitation, he was 
so pitiable a sight that every one was afraid of him. 
They threw him something to eat, but the master of the 
house guarded his door with a gun.’’ 

Florent’s voice broke ; he looked about him. Pauline 
had fallen asleep after many efforts to keep her eyes open. 
Quenu had lost his temper. 

Don’t you know how to hold a gut ? ” he cried to 
L^on. Will you never learn ? Now, stand steady ! ” 

L4on, with his right hand, raised a long empty gut, in 
the end of which a wide funnel had been placed. Quenu 
filled the gut and pressed in the mixture he had prepared, 
tied strings around both ends and dropped it into the pot. 
Lisa looked on with great interest at this operation, and 
her husband sighed with relief that his labors were at 
last over. 

‘^And the man — the man ! ” murmured little Pauline, 
opening her eyes in surprise, missing the sounds of her 
cousin’s voice. 

Florent rocked her on his knee, and went on as if he 
were an old nurse. 

^^And then the man got to a great town, where he was 
at first supposed to be an escaped convict, and was put in 
prison for several months. When he was released, he 
tried to find employment; he taught children to read, and 


120 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 


did any little things he could. This man was determined 
to go home to his own country, and had saved his money 
for that, when he was taken down by yellow fever. They 
thought him dead, and they divided his clothes, and when 
he was better, he had not a shirt to put on. He was 
compelled to begin at the beginning. The man was very 
sick, but he got better, the man got well, and the man got 
away.^' 

Florent^s voice grew lower and lower, and at last became 
inaudible, though his pale lips continued to move. 
Pauline still slept, lulled by his voice, and her head 
rested on the shoulder of her cousin, who held her in his 
arms, and rocked her to and fro, in a sweet and tender sort 
of way. 

It was time now for Quenu to take out the puddings. 
This he did with a stick, and carried them one by one 
into the court-yard, where he hung them all up to dry. 
L4on helped him, holding the ends of the puddings when 
they were very long. The steam coming from the kettles 
which Quenu had left uncovered, filled the kitchen, and 
Lisa and Augustine were as oppressed as if they bad 
eaten too hearty a meal. 

Augustine carried Pauline up-stairs. Quenu, who liked 
to shut up the kitchen himself, dismissed Auguste and 
L4on. The apprentice went off sulkily, for he had stolen 
half a yard of pudding which he intended to broil. Then 
the Quenus and Florent remained alone and silent. Lisa 
eat a mouthful or two of the pudding. 

‘^It is good,” she said, '^excellent! I wonder what La 
Normande will say about this ? ” 


THE MAEKETS OF PARIS. 


121 


Some one knocked, and Gavard came in. He always 
remained with Monsieur Lebigre until midnight. He had 
now come for a positive reply, in regard to the position he 
had obtained for Florent. 

‘‘Monsieur Valoque,^^ he said, “can wait no longer; he 
is really too ill. Florent must decide. I have promised 
an answer to-morrow at an early hour.” 

“Florent accepts,” said Lisa, quietly, taking another 
nibble at her pudding. 

Florent in vain tried to protest. 

“ No, no,” continued Lisa, “ you have suffered enough, 
my dear Florent. You make me shudder when you tell 
such terrible stories. It is time that you settle down. 
You belong to an honorable family ; you have received a 
good education, and it really is not proper to roam the 
streets like a beggar. You are too old for such childish- 
ness. You have sown your wild oats, and they are for- 
gotten and forgiven. You must return to the position to 
which you are entitled, and live like the rest of us.” 

Florent listened, but in his astonishment, could not find 
a word to ^ay. She was right, of course ; how could she 
be otherwise, this woman, with her healthy, tranquil face? 
He, of course, was the one in the wrong ; he with his bent 
figure and emaciated countenance. He wondered even, 
that he had dreamed of resistance. 

But she continued lecturing him in a maternal fashion, 
and bringing forward the most convincing arguments. 

“ Do this for us, Florent,” she said ; “ we are looked up 
to here in the Quartier, and I am afraid that people are 


122 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


beginning to chatter. This place will make them hold 
their tongues, and you will be an honor to us.” 

She became caressing ; a gentle lassitude took possession 
of Florent. He was weighed down, so to speak, by the 
substantial odors with which the air of the kitchen was 
laden. He was carried away by the comfort and pleni- 
tude of the life he had lived for the last fortnight, and the 
bitterness he had felt, his keen indignation, and burning 
desire for vengeance were smouldering. He seemed to 
have no other aim, than to spend a series of just such 
evenings all through life. But it was Mouton after 
all who turned the scales. Monton slept so profoundly 
with his tail curled up against his back, and looked so 
deliciously happy, that Florent murmured, as he looked 
at him : 

‘^And why not^ after all? I accept, Gavard; yes, I 
accept.” 

Then Lisa finished her pudding, and dried her fingers. 
She lighted a candle for her brotl\pr-in-law, and stood 
with it in her hand, the light falling on her lovely face, 
which had all the tranquillity of a sacred Cow. 


THE MAKKETS OF PARIS. 


123 


CHAPTER III. 

THE HANDSOME FISH-WOMAN. 

T hree days later, and all was arranged. The city 
government accepted the temporary substitute 
offered by Monsieur Yaloque without question. 

When Florent first presented himself at the Prefecture, 
Gavard volunteered to go with him, and whfen he was with 
Florent again in the street, he gave the latter several jocose 
digs in the side, and winked impetuously. The policemen 
all seemed to him a huge joke, for as he passed them, he 
drew down the corners of his mouth, as if it were with 
difficulty that he repressed a laugh. 

The next day Monsieur Yaloque initiated his successor 
in the details of his duties, and for several mornings, 
guided him through the turbulent little world, wherein he 
was now to spend his days. 

^^This poor Yaloque,” as Gavard called him, was a 
small, sickly-looking man, with a perpetual cough ; wrapped 
up in flannel, and with a silk handkerchief around his 
throat, he tottered about the markets with the aid of a 
cane. 

The first morning Florent was literally deafened by 
the noise. Around the auction benches crowded the 
retail dealers, while the employes arrived with their regis- 
ters, and the agents of the shippers, carrying huge leather 


124 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


bags over their shoulders, sat waiting with their chairs 
tipped up on their back legs against the wall. The fish 
was unpacked in the little enclosure, while along the 
sidewalk there were perpetual arrivals of small instal- 
ments — bags dripping with water were perpetually 
pitched down. Men were hastily tearing off the straw 
from the crates, and emptying them, and rearranging the 
contents on the shallow baskets in the most advantageous 
manner. It seemed to Florent that a whole school of fish 
had backed up against the wall; their shining scales, 
and pearly oysters and violet-tinted mussels recalled all 
the soft tints of the ocean. 

The sea had given up all its treasures — cod, sword fish, 
plaice, mud fish, of a dirty gray, with white spots ; eels, 
deep blue in tone, with narrow, black eyes — skates, whose 
white bellies were bordered with pale pink, and along the 
back of which, on the protruding spine, up to the gills, 
were dashes of cinnabar, striped with Florentine bronze, 
and fading off into the dark brown of a toad — hound fish, 
with their horrible heads — their mouths, huge, like Chinese 
idols — their short wings, like those of bats — monsters, 
who guard marine grottos. 

At last came the fine, handsome fish, each alone, on an 
osier tray; salmon of rosy silver, every scale of which 
looked as if touched by a graver’s tool; mullets, with 
larger scales ; turbots, and brills, white and firm as curdled 
milk; tun jies, smooth and varnished like black leather; 
soles panted on all sides, gray and white ; herring with 
their bloody gills; fat gold fish, spotted with carmine; — 


125 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 

while mackerel, their backs marked with brownish green, 
and their bellies like mother-of-pearl, lay with heads all 
toward the centre of the basket. There were also sur- 
mullets, red dashed with brown ; boxes of whiting, reflecting 
the light like opals — baskets of smelts, clean little baskets, 
as pretty as baskets of strawberries — rosy shrimp — gray 
prawns — lobsters, spotted with black, still living, and 
reaching out their claws in a helpless sort of fashion. 

Florent listened to the explanations of Monsieur 
Valoque. A streak of sunshine came athwart the scene, 
lighting up all the lovely hues of these strange creatures. 
It was as if some sea-nymph had opened all her jewel 
caskets and thrown them pell-mell on the ground — 
necklaces and bracelets, fantastic ornaments of all kinds, 
heaped in one rich mass. But Florent caught a breath of 
the salt sea, with which he was familiar. He remembered 
that long Guiana coast. He remembered a bay, where, 
at low tide, the sea-weeds lay uncovered, and smoked in 
the sunshine, when the high rocks were drying, and the 
wind blew strong from over the sea toward him. The 
fresh fish exhaled this same keen smell. 

Monsieur Valoque coughed. The dampness struck 
to his lungs, and he pulled the handkerchief oyer his 
mouth. 

^^Now,^’ he said, we will go on to the fresh-water fish.” 

This was the last toward la Hue Rambuteau, where 
stood immense tanks, supplied by faucets with fresh water, 
in slender threads. In each tank there was a moving 
mass. Here Monsieur Yqloqqe coughed more. The 
8 


126 


THE MAEKETS OF PARIS. 


dampness was as great, but there was a smell of moisture 
and of wet earth. 

The amount of crabs from Germany, in boxes and 
baskets, was very large that morning; while fish from 
Holland and England overcrowded the market. There 
were carp from the Rhine, which were beautiful, with 
their bronze, metallic glitter, and scales like Cloisonii6 
enamel ; huge pike — those brigands of the river — in their 
steel-gray garb ; tench — sombre and magnificent — like 
red copper, spotted with verdigris. There Avere trout and 
white bait. 

Large baskets of young carp were being emptied into 
the tank. The fish turned over, lay still a moment, and 
then swam gayly off. Bags of small eels were turned out, 
falling in one huge, solid mass, while the bigger ones dis- 
entangled themselves, and slipped away with the supple 
movements of an adder, hiding among the bushes. Fish 
were lying on the flat osier baskets, who had been slowly 
dying ever since the morning. They gasped and opened 
their mouths as if to drink in all the humidity of the air, 
while their sides shook with an occasional hiccough. 
Meanwhile, Monsieur Yaloque took Florent further 
on, all the time talking, and giving him the needed 
information. 

The crowd around the wire enclosures, where sat the 
employes with their registers, on high stools, was rapidly 
becoming more dense. 

Florent was taken within one of these wire enclosures 
where sat the agent of the Municipal Custom-House, 


TH^3 MARKETS OF PARIS. 


127 


making entries in a huge book. Lower down were two 
women writing at their small desks ; they kept the tallies. 
The cashier was a stout woman who had piles of silver 
and copper before her. 

There are two controllers here/’ said Yaloque j ^'one 
representing the Prefecture of the Seine, the other that 
of the Prefecture of the Police; the latter nominates the 
factors, and pretends to oversee them. The Administra- 
tion of the City affects only those transactions on which 
they levy a tax.” 

He continued to talk in his little, cold voice, and had 
much to say of the quarrels of these two officials. Florent 
did not listen. He was looking at a woman who sat at one 
of the desks. She was a brunette about thirty, with a 
dignified, handsome face. She was writing, and held her 
pen like a lady. He at that moment heard the crier, 
who held up a magnificent turbot : 

Thirty francs ! ” he said, thirty francs ! ” 

He repeated these two words in every imaginable tone. 
He was a humpback, and wore a blue apron ; he waved 
his arras wildly. 

Thirty-one ! thirty-two ! thirty- two fifty — ! ” 

He stopped to take breath, and pushed the osier basket 
forward. Some of the fish-women leaned over and lightly 
touched the turbot. Then off the man went again, seeing 
the smallest sign made by a bidder — uplifted eyebrows, 
parted lips, or a wink ; and that with such rapidity, that 
Florent, who could not follow him, was perfectly astonished 
when the hunchback chanted : 


128 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 


Forty-two ! forty-two ! Going at forty-two ! ” 

It was la belle Normande who made the last bid. 
Florent saw her standing in the centre of the row of fish- 
women. The morning was cool, and there was a great 
display of big white aprons and stout frames. The high 
chignon and crimps, the fresh clean skin of la belle 
Normande, made her very conspicuous among the bushy 
heads with colored handkerchiefs knotted about them, and 
faces with swollen noses and impudent eyes. 

She had seen Madame Quenu^s cousin, and was greatly 
surprised at his being there. 

The auctioneer continued to sell the fish, while the 
brunette wrote on rapidly. 

That man is magnificent,” said Monsieur Valoque, 
with a smile. He is the best seller in the market. 
Bless your heart ! he would make you buy the soles of his 
boots, for a pair of fish of the same name !” 

He said, as he passed the tanks of fresh-water fish, that 
if France did not take some aetive measures, her rivers 
and lakes would soon be depopulated. 

An auctioneer was here selling the eels and crabs by 
the lot. 

The crowd grew larger. Yaloque did his duty as 
Inspector most conscientiously ; he pushed his way 
through the crowd, until he reached the spot where the 
most rapid bidding was going on. The larger purchasers 
were there with their porters, ready to carry a^vay the 
choice fish they bought. There was also an occasional 
respectable bourgeois, who, tempted by the prospect of a 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


129 


fresh fish for breakfast, had come down to the market 
at four o’clock, and to his great amazement found him- 
self the unintentional owner of forty or fifty francs 
worth of sea-food, which, after it was knocked down, 
he was compelled to entreat his friends to take off his 
hands. There was no little quarrelling among the 
crowd, and also rude elbowing. Florent at last said he 
had seen enough, and as he emerged from the crowd, 
he found himself face to face with La belle Nor- 
mande.” She said to Monsieur Valoque, with her^^a^r 
de reine : ” 

Then it is quite settled, sir; you leave us, do you?” 

Yes,” answered the little man. I am going into 
the country for a while — to Clamart. And this is the 
gentleman who takes my place.” 

La belle Yormande was dumbfounded, and as Florent 
went away, he thought he heard her say in the ear of one 
of her friends : 

^^Now we will have some fun!” 

Florent regretted already that he had yielded to Lisa’s 
entreaties. As soon, indeed, as he was in the open air, 
and shaken himself clear of the sleepy influence of the 
kitchen, he accused himself of miserable cowardice almost 
with tears in his eyes. But he dared not retract his pro- 
mise, for he was a little afraid of Lisa. He had detected 
a certain compression of the lips, which boded ill for him 
should he venture to do this. 

Gavard inspired him with an idea that was not without 
its consolation. He confided to him that Yaloque — ^Hhe 


130 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


poor devil ” — needed money so much, that it would be a 
real act of charity to allow him to keep a certain amount 
of the salary. Florent accepted this proposal with joy. 
It seemed only right in his eyes. Besides, he really needed 
so little himself, as he slept and eat with his brother. 
Gavard said that from the monthly salary of a hundred 
and fifty francs, it would be as well to offer Valoque fifty. 
It could not be for very long after all, as the poor man 
was in a galloping consumption. It was agreed that 
Florent should make the arrangement with the wife, to. 
avoid hurting Valoque^s pride. 

Florent assented, but demanded a promise from the 
poultry-vendor that no one should know of this ; and as 
Gavard also stood in wholesome terror of Lisa, he kept 
the secret in a most meritorious way. 

At last every one at the eating-shop was content. La 
belle Lisa was more friendly than ever to her brother-in- 
law. She sent him to bed early, that he might wake in 
season. She gave him a hot breakfast, and was not 
ashamed to talk with him on the sidewalk, now that he 
wore an official cap. Quenu was charmed that things 
were going so smoothly. They sat over their dinner often 
until nine o’clock, while Augustine was in charge of the 
counter. During this time there was much gossip and 
many positive judgments uttered by the pork merchant 
and his wife. 

Florent was questioned about what went on at market, 
and he soon began to enjoy the regularity of this dull but 
comfortable life. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


VM 

But Gavard declared that the Quenu-Gradelles’ interior 
was too sleepy. He forgave Lisa for her tenderness to the 
Emperor, because he said it was foolish ever to talk poli- 
tics with a woman. He preferred to spend his evenings 
with Monsieur Lebigre, where he met friends ‘Gvith 
opinions, and he insisted on Florent, now that he was 
made Inspector, going with him. 

Monsieur Lebigre had a fine establishment, with all 
modern luxuries. It stood at the opposite corner of la Rue 
Pirouette, and was flanked with four small Norway pines, 
in green boxes, and made a worthy pendant to the eating- 
house of the Quenu-Gradelles. The large panes of glass 
allowed a full view of the interior, papered in pale green, 
and garlanded with grape vines. The floor was in squares 
of black and white marble. A winding staircase, curtained 
with' red, led to the billiard room below. 

But the counter on the right was very imposing with its 
display of silver. Gas-lamps, to keep wine and punch 
hot, were at one end, and at the other was a marble foun- 
tain, much ornamented, from which fell so continuous a 
stream of water that it looked almost as if it, too, were 
carved. Green bottles were cooling in the water, while 
whole armies of glasses, arranged in different sizes, 
were near at hand — small ones for brandy, thick goblets, 
absinthe glasses, and saucers for brandied fruits. Tall 
vases served to hold any number of spoons. 

Generally, Monsieur Lebigre was enthroned behind the 
counter on an arm-chair, covered with red leather. Close 
at his hand were liqueurs, in decanters of cut glass— jars 


132 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 


of brandied fruits, cherries, prunes and peaches, and be- 
tween piles of toothsome biscuit, were bottles filled with 
mysterious liqueurs like extracts from flowers, so delicate 
were their hues of pale pink and clear yellow. These 
bottles looked as if they were suspended in the air, as the 
strong, white light of the gas fell upon them. 

To give to his establishment the air of a Caf§, Monsieur 
Lebigre had placed opposite the counter against the wall, 
two small tables and four chairs. A chandelier, with five 
burners and polished globes, hung from the ceiling. A 
round-faced clock was on the left. There was in the rear 
a private room, which had one window looking on la Hue 
Pirouette. In the evening it was lighted by gas. It was 
in this secluded retreat, that Gavard and his political 
friends met, after their dinner, every evening. They con- 
sidered themselves thoroughly at home there, and no one 
was ever allowed to usurp their places, or to intrude upon 
them. 

The first day Gavard gave some little account of Mon- 
sieur Lebigre to Florent. He was a good man — an 
excellent man. They had heard him say that he had 
suffered in ^8. He might seem stupid, but he was not; 
and these gentlemen, as they passed his counter, gave him 
a hearty shake of the hand, over his glasses and decanters. 
Often by his side sat a little woman — a girl whom he had 
taken as his assistant. She was called Eose, and was 
sweet and submissive. Gavard, with a wink, insinuated 
to Florent, that she carried her submission to a very 
great length with the proprietor. Nevertheless, all these 


THE MAEKETS OP PARIS. 


133 


gentlemen liked to be served by Rose, who went in and 
out as quietly as a shadow, and seemed not to hear a word 
of their most stormy political discussions. 

The day that Gavard was to present Florent to his 
friends, they beheld, on entering the private room, an 
individual of about fifty, with a doubtful hat and a much- 
worn brown coat. His chin was resting on an ivory- 
headed cane, and his mouth was so buried in a full beard 
that his face seemed destitute of lips. 

How are you, Robine asked Gavard. 

Robine silently extended his hand. He did not speak, 
and hardly winked. He replaced his chin on his cane, 
and earnestly inspected Florent, who had sworn Gavard to 
secrecy in regard to his story, and was now disposed to 
believe that this promise had been broken, and that this 
gentleman distrusted him. But he was mistaken. Never 
did Robine talk more than this. He was always the first 
to enter the room, and sat invariably in the same corner, 
without once laying down his cane. He sat listening to 
the others, drinking only the one glass, and that so imper- 
ceptibly that it lasted until midnight. When Florent 
some time later questioned Gavard on Robine, he was told 
that this person was very shrewd, but no reasons were 
given, and no instances cited of this marvellous shrewdness. 
It was roundly asserted, however, that he was one of the 
men of the Opposition most dreaded by the government. 
He lived in la Rue St. Denis, but no one was ever known to 
have entered his rooms. Gavard stoutly asseverated that 
on one memorable occasion he had done so, and had seen 


134 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


highly waxed floors, and an alabaster clock, with columns. 
Madame Robine, whose back only he had seen as he went 
in, was very comme il faut,^ and wore English curls, 
unless he was greatly mistaken. The manage was a peculiar 
one. The husband had no business apparently ; he spent 
his days no one knew where; lived no one knew how, 
but appeared among them regularly each evening. 

Have you seen this Address from the Throne ? ” said 
Gavard, taking up a journal from the table. 

Robine shrugged his shoulders, but the door opened 
wide, and a hunchback entered — the hunchback from the 
market; a very different-looking person he was now, 
however. 

^‘Ah ! here comes Logre,” said the poultry-vendor. “ He 
will tell us all the news, and what he thinks of the speech 
from the Throne.” 

But Logre threw down his hat furiously, and, as he 
seated himself, gave a pound on the table with his fist. 

‘^Do you think I read their blasted lies?” he cried. 
The hunchback was evidently much out of humor. He 
soon found a victim. 

Rose ! Rose ! ” he called, going to the door of the 
cabinet. 

And when the young woman appeared, all in a tremble, 
he said : 

‘^Why do you stand looking at me? You saw me' 
come in, and yet you do not trouble yourself to see what I 
want.” 

Rose humbly apologized, received the orders from Logre 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


135 


and the other two men, who soon had their glasses at their 
side. 

‘‘Where is Charvet? said one. 

“Waiting for Clemence outside,’^ was the reply. 

But Charvet appeared. He was a tall, bony fellow, 
who lived near the Luxembourg. His hair was long, and 
thrown back from his forehead. He talked with a rapid 
flow of words, which were so long and so erudite that his 
adversaries were generally floored. Gavard was afraid of 
him, though he would not acknowledge it, even to himself, 
and always said, when Charvet was not there, that he was 
utterly unendurable. Kobine approved all that was said 
only with his eyelids. Logre was the only one in the little 
group who ventured to argue with this authoritative per- 
sonage. He and Clemence had lived together as man and 
wife for ten years, and as Elorent looked at the young 
woman, he at last remembered where he had seen her. 
She was the brunette whom he had seen writing in the 
fish-market. 

Rose appeared on the heels of the new-comers. She 
placed a glass before Clemence, also a plate, with a lemon 
cut in halves. Cl4mence mixed her glass of grog herself, 
pressing the lemon with a spoon, and holding the decan- 
ter of rum up to the light, to see that she did not take too 
much. 

Gavard presented Elorent to these gentlemen, with an 
especial recommendation to Charvet. He said that they 
were both clever men, who would understand each other. 
They all shook hands with the new-comer in a peculiar 


136 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


sort of way, suggestive of the Masonic grip. Charvet 
showed himself quite amiable. 

‘^Have you received your pay to-day?’^ asked Logre 
of Cl^mence. 

She said ^^Yes,” and opened her pocket-book, and 
showed it to him, full of silver. 

We must settle our accounts,” he said, in a low voice. 

‘‘Certainly, to-night. I have breakfasted with you 
four times; but then, you know, I lent you five francs 
last week.” 

Florent in surprise turned away his head, lest he 
should hear what was not intended for him. 

Cl^mence sipped her glass and leaned back against the 
wall, and listened to the men talking politics. 

Gavard took up the paper and read in a manner which 
he attempted to make comic, disjointed fragments from 
the speech from the Throne, spoken that morning at the 
opening of the Chambers. One phrase amused him ex- 
cessively : 

“ We are confident, gentlemen, relying as we do on your 
enlightened views, and on the conservative sentiments of 
the country, that we shall see the daily growth of public 
prosperity.” 

Logre repeated this phrase, and even imitated the nasal 
twang of the Emperor. 

“Prosperity is a very nice thing,” said Charvet, “but 
there is a good deal of starvation now-a-days.” 

“ Business is at a stand-still,” muttered Gavard. 

The discussion grew quite violent. The Legislative body 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


137 


was handled without gloves. Logre became quite excited, 
stood up, and gesticulated in much the same attitude in 
which he stood in the market, and sold off a fine turbot. 

Char vet was quite reserved, and smoked his pipe steadily. 
When he did speak, his voice rang through the room, 
Robine nodded an assent without taking his chin from the 
ivory of his cane. Finally the conversation turned upon 
women. 

Women,” said Charvet, ^^are the equals of men. There 
should be, consequently, no inseparable bonds to bind them 
together. It should be a mere business partnership. You 
agree with me, Clemence ? ” 

‘^Evidently,” she answered, with her head against the 
wall, and her eyes half closed. 

Florent saw, through the half-open door. Mademoiselle 
Saget at the counter. She had drawn a bottle from under 
her apron, and watched Rose, as the latter filled it with a 
mixture of raspberry cordial and brandy. The bottle was 
handed to Mademoiselle Saget, who then quickly concealed 
it under her apron, and lingered to chat a little. The es- 
tablishment that night was especially brilliant, and the old 
maid in her scanty black skirts was a strange blemish on 
the scene. Florent fancied she had seen him, for ever 
since he had first entered the Halles, she had been at his 
heels — he had often seen her with Madame Lecoeur or La 
Sarriette, watching him stealthily. His appointment as 
Inspector seemed to astonish these women greatly. 

Mademoiselle Saget said a few words to Rose, and then 
turned to a table near the door of the private room, where 
Monsieur Lebigre was playing piquet with a customer. 


138 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


Shut the door, FldrenV^ said Gavard, roughly, who 
detested the old maid. Laeaille, who had joined the group, 
meekly obeyed. 

At midnight, when the conference broke up, Laeaille 
said a few words in a low voice to Lebigre, who, as he 
shook hands with him^ slipped four five-franc pieces into 
his hand, and whispered : 

You know — it is twenty-two francs to-morrow. Do 
not forget also that you owe three days for the carriage. 
Let everything be paid up.’^ 

Monsieur Lebigre wished these gentlemen good-night. 
He was sleepy, he said, and his yawn disclosed his strong 
white teeth. He bade Rose put out the gas in the private 
room, and turned away. 

Gavard was a little tipsy, and stumbled as he went out. 
Florent left him at his own door, and went up to his attic, 
which he had learned to like very much. Augustine’s 
presence still lingered in the room. On the chimney 
were a hair-pin or two, a box of gilt pasteboard, contain- 
ing buttons and pastelles, an empty pomade pot which 
smelt of jasmine. In the table drawer were a prayer-book, 
some needles and pins, a spool of cotton — also a tumbled 
copy of ^^A Key to Dreams.” 

A summer dress, white with yellow spots, hung on a 
nail behind the door, while on the board, which did duty 
as a washstand, behind the water-pitcher, was a dark spot 
where a bottle of bandoline had been tipped over. Florent 
was amused by the childishness of the ‘‘Key to Dreams” 
and the gilt boxes; they took him back to his own youth. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


139 


He forgot Augustine, and fancied himself occupying the 
room of a dear sister, who had left behind her, something 
of her feminine presence. 

He liked, too, to Jean out of the window of his attic. To 
this window was attached a narrow balcony with iron rail- 
ings, where Augustine had kept a box of flowers, which 
Florent, now that the nights had grown chilly, took into 
the house. He would remain for an hour or more looking 
out, and enjoying the fresh air, which came from the Seine 
over the houses in la Rue de Rivoli. Below were the 
confused masses of the market roofs; above, a broad glimpse 
of the open sky. Here he thought, with mingled pain 
and pleasure, of the despairing years he had spent out of 
France. 

At last, with a shiver, he would close his window, and 
as he took off his coat, feel that the eyes of the photo- 
graphs of Auguste and Augustine were following his every 
movement. The first weeks of Florent’s new employment 
were very painful. He found a certain covert hostility ; 
the belle Normande had sworn to avenge herself on La 
belle Lisa,” and the cousin ” was a good opportunity. 

The Mehudens had come from Rouen. The old mother 
still told, how she had arrived in Paris with a few eels in 
a basket. She married an employ 6 at the Custom House, 
who died, leaving her the mother of two little girls. It 
was she, who, by her full figure and resplendent skin, had 
won the title of ^^La belle Normande,” which her daughter 
had inherited. 

The old woman had grown immensely stout and had 


140 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 


never renounced the fashions of her youth. She still wore 
a dress of a large-figured material, and a yellow fichu — the 
traditional costume of fish-women, and had also preserved 
the loud voice, and arms akimbo — and had the slang of the 
fish-market at the end of her tongue. She mourned over 
the loss of the Marche des Innocents, spoke of the former 
rights of the Dames des HalleSj and told of visits paid to the 
market by the Court in the reign of Charles X. and of 
Louis Philippe, the ladies in silk dresses, and with flowers 
in their hands. Mother Mehuden, as she was called, had 
been for a long time the bearer of the banner, in the Asso- 
ciation of the Virgin. In the processions in the church, she 
wore a tulle cap, with satin ribbons, and held aloft with 
her swollen hands the golden standard, from which floated 
a richly figured flag, on which was embroidered a Virgin. 

Mother Mehuden, it was rumored, had made a great 
fortune. The two sisters were not especially good friends. 
The youngest, Claire, an indolent blonde, had many 
complaints to make of her sister, Louise. The mother 
surrendered her own stall to Louise, and installed Claire 
among the fresh-water fish, and, although she called 
herself out of the business, she w’andered about the 
markets all day. 

Claire was a whimsical creature, very gentle, and yet 
always in a quarrel with those about her. She was quietly 
obstinate and wilful, with not the smallest idea of justice. 
She often revolutionized the market, making the prices 
higher or lower, as she pleased, without being able to say 
why herself. 


THE MAPwKETS OF PARIS. 


141 


She was nearly thirty, and was beginning to grow a 
little heavy, but at twenty-two she looked as Claude 
Lantier had said, like a Murillo, and a most untidy 
Murillo, too, with her slip-shod shoes, and her dress cut 
as if by a hatchet. She was not in the least coquettish, 
and was indeed quite contemptuous, when Louise ap- 
peared in her ribbons. It was said that the son of a 
rich bookseller in the Quartier, had gone to a foreign 
land in despair at not being able to obtain a good word 
from her. Louise — La belle Normande — was much more 
tender-hearted. She was on the point of marrying an 
employ^ in the wheat market, when the poor fellow^s 
back was broken by the fall of a load of flour. Never- 
theless, she had a child some few months later, and was 
politely spoken of as a widow.^’ The old fish-woman 
often said when my son-in-law was living.^’ 

These Mehudens were a power in the Halles. When 
Monsieur Yaloque had given Florent every possible aid, 
lie gently intimated that he must manage several among 
the market-women, if he wished to live in peace. He 
even suggested that an occasional little present would be 
by no means amiss. 

An Inspector is both a police officer, and a J ustice of 
the peace, keeping order, and conciliating the differences 
arising between purchaser and seller. Florent, unfitted 
by nature to play this role, went too far, whenever he 
exercised his authority, and then, too, his constrained 
manner and sad face were much against him. 

The tactics of La belle Normande was to draw him into 

9 


142 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


some quarrel, as she had sworn that he should not keep 
his position a fortnight. 

If that fat Lisa thinks we are going to take up with 
her leavings, she is greatly mistaken ! The man is 
hideous. We have more taste than she.” 

After the morning auctions, when Florent went through 
the markets, he saw perfectly well that La belle Normande 
wished to insult him. AVhen he passed her stall, she 
laughed immoderately, and generally turned the water 
from the faucets over the alley. 

Florent pretended not to see or hear. One morning, 
however, war was declared. That day, when Florent 
reached the stall occupied by La belle Normande, he 
perceived a most intolerable odor. He saw fine salmon, 
rosy perch, turbots as white as cream, mullets, and soles, and 
among these fish, whose eyes were still bright, was a large 
skate, which was putrid, and the flesh falling from the bones. 

That skate must be thrown away,” said Florent, going 
up to the stall. 

La belle Normande laughed insolently. He looked at 
her. Never had he seen her so gorgeous. She seemed 
unusually tall, as she stood on a box, to protect her feet 
from the dampness. Her hair was carefully dressed, and 
a gold chain hung over her breast, and long gold rings 
from her ears. 

He repeated, quietly, This skate cannot remain here.” 

He had not noticed Mother Mehuden, who was sitting 
on a chair in the corner. She rose, and, coming forward, 
she leaned with her hands on the marble slab. 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 


143 


And why ?” said she. Why should she throw this 
fish away ? Will you pay her for it ? 

Then Florent saw that he was in for it, and realized 
that a spirit of insubordination was let loose among these 
people. He controlled himself, beckoned to one of the 
porters, who carried the barrow for refuse, picked up the 
skate himself, and threw it in. Mother Mehuden put her 
arms akimbo with a defiant air, and La belle Normande 
laughed again, as Florent walked away. Each day there 
was a new invention. The Inspector was obliged to watch 
what was going on about him, as if he had been in an 
enemy^s land. One morning, when he ran to separate 
two women, who were quarrelling, he was near receiving 
full in his face a quantity of small fish, which were certainly 
thrown at him. He at once concluded that the quarrel 
was a farce, acted for the benefit of La belle Normande, 
who sneered aloud. His old training as a teacher armed 
him with angelic patience. He knew how to preserve an 
appearance of impassibility, even when he was boiling with 
indignation. But none of his pupils were as ferocious as 
these women, whose enormous busts shook with laughter 
when he was t^ken in some new snare. 

Gavard would have enjoyed all this, and would have 
fought his way through in triumph, but Florent was always 
more or less intimidated by women, and the rough coarseness 
of these especial ones was intensely disagreeable to him. 

He had one friend among them all, and this was Claire. 
She declared that she liked the new Inspector, and greeted 
him always with a cordial smile. He very often saw her 


144 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


with her blonde hair curling on her neck and on her 
temples, and her skirts carelessly tucked up as she dabbled 
in her tanks, and gave fresh water to her fish. He always 
thought of pictures he had seen of bathers on a river-side, 
with their clothes loosely huddled about them. 

One morning she was particularly amiable. She called 
the Inspector to see an enormous eel, that had astonished 
the whole market. She lifted the grating she had pru- 
dently laid over the top of the tank, at the bottom of which 
the eel seemed to sleep. 

Wait a moment,^^ she said, I will show you.” 

She softly put her arm in — an arm that was a little 
thin, on which the blue veins stood out on the satiny 
skin. When the eel was touched, it rolled over. 

Claire said she had always been afraid of eels, and 
could never bear to touch them, but now she had learned 
to hold them so they could not slip away; and she leaned 
over the tank, and let the water drip from her fingers. 

I must show you my carp,” she said, suddenly ; and 
opening another tank, she lifted out a superb creature. 

^^They do not bite,” she said, with her sweet smile. 

But I am afraid of crabs.” 

As she said this, she took from a box near by a crab ; 
but cautious as she was, the creature evidently took a 
stronger nip than she anticipated, for she grew very red, 
and broke off the claw angrily, although she did not cease 
to smile. 

I would never trust a pike though ; they will take off 
your fingers as with a knife.” 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


145 


And she pointed to a long row of pike, arranged by 
their sizes. The air was full of odors like those rising 
from a pond wherein grow water-lilies and tall reeds. She 
dried her hands on her apron and smiled again. 

Claire’s sympathy was but a small consolation to Flo- 
rent, for it only attracted a great deal of observation, and 
caused many disagreeable remarks, whenever he stopped 
near her stall. 

The revolt in the market became each day more decided. 
Florent would have left the market, but for his fear of 
seeming a coward in Lisa’s eyes. 

“ I would soon bring them to their senses ! ” said she, 
one day after dinner. “You are wrong to be so mild, 
Florent. Take a decided step, and you will soon bring 
them to terms.” 

One morning Madame Taboureau’s cook was in the 
fish-market looking for a barbel. 

“ Come and see me,” said La belle Normande, “ and I 
can find you something. Just lift that,” she continued, 
laying in the woman’s hand a barbel, wrapped in yellow 
paper. 

The servant regretfully said : 

“ But how much is it ? ” 

“ Fifteen francs,” answered the fish- woman. 

The servant laid the fish down, and turned away. 

“ What will you give, then ? Name your price.” 

“ No, no ! It is too dear. I can’t give more than eight 
francs.” 

Then Mother Mehuden came to the fore. “Did the 


146 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


woman think they had stolen their fish ? ” And La belle 
Normande turned away her head. The woman came back, 
and oifered nine and then ten francs ; and as she was going 
away for good, the belle Normande called out : 

Well ! then, give me the money.” 

The cook stood talking with Mother Mehuden. Mad- 
ame Taboureau was so particular. She had company to 
dinner that day — a cousin from Blois — a lawyer and his 
wife. 

You are going to clean that fish, are you not?” she 
said, interrupting herself. 

La belle Normande emptied the fish with one quick 
movement of her fingers — wiped the sand out under the 
gills, and laid the fish in the cook’s basket. 

There now,” she said, gayly, you are all right.” 

In fifteen minutes the cook was back. She had been 
crying. She threw the fish on the marble slab, showing a 
great tear in the belly. A flood of tears choked her words. 

“ Madame Taboureau won’t have it. She says she can’t 
use it, and that I am a fool who allows myself to be robbed 
by everybody. I did not turn it over. I trusted you. 
Give me back my ten francs.” 

Mother Mehuden rose in her wrath. 

^‘Do you think,” she said, “that we shall take it back? 
You must have let the fish fall.” 

The servant burst into tears. 

“ You are two thieves,” she sobbed, “just as my mistress 
said.” 

The mother and daughter were furious, and the little 
cook sobbed still harder. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 147 

Your mistress would like us to mend this for her, I 
suppose,” sneered La belle Normande. 

Florent arrived in the height of this quarrel, which had 
attracted all the women from the various stalls. As soon 
as he heard the story, he promptly said : 

Give back the ten francs to this woman.” 

But Mother Mehuden meant to go the length of her 
rope. 

Of course,” she cried, and this is the way I shall 
give them to her ! ” And the old woman flung the fish 
full in the little cook’s face. 

This was too much for Florent. Even La belle Nor- 
mande w^as thunderstruck as he exclaimed : 

“ I shall withdraw your permit for a week ! ” 

And as he heard a loud hiss behind him, he turned with 
so threatening an air, that even La belle Normande was 
afraid, and recoiled. 

When the Mehudens had returned the ten francs, he 
closed the stall. The old woman was choking with rage, 
while her daughter was cold and white. Could it be 
possible that she. La belle Normande, was ignominously 
turned out of her stall ! 

Claire said, quite audibly, “ that it served her right,” 
which led to a fierce quarrel that night between the two 
sisters. 

At the end of a week, when the Mehudens returned to 
the market, they were very quiet and silent. But from 
this time La belle Normande cherished the hope of some 
terrible revenge. 


148 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


She felt that the blow came to her through Lisa, who 
had given her so triumphant a glance the day after the 
battle, that iier rival swore she should pay dearly for it. 

Her child was growing up in the fish-market, at home 
in every corner of it, and among the shining mackerel 
and perch. His favorite amusement, when his mother^s 
back was turned, was to build walls and houses with the 
herring; he also drew them up in line-of-battle on the 
marble slab, imitated a trumpet with his lips, and then 
pushed them all together in a pile, crying out that they 
were dead. Then he tormented his Aunt Claire, and did 
his best to drown himself in her tank. At seven he was 
the idol of the fish-market, and did precisely as he 
pleased. 

When they showed him something, which he considered 
absolutely entrancing, be would clasp his hands, and say : 

‘^Ah ! it is too much ! ” 

And the name of Much clung to him. Much was here, 
Much was there and everywhere ; he loved the running 
water like any fish, and paddled about in it all the time, 
often stealthily opening a faucet, overjoyed at the spurting 
forth of the water ; and his mother would pick him up 
many times in the day, wet through and through, and blue 
with cold. Much, at seven, was as beautiful a child as 
was ever seen. His chestnut hair lightly waved ; his eyes 
were as blue as Forget-me-nots. All the frightful language 
of the Halles fell naturally from the lips which looked so 
pure. He would put his arms akimbo and imitate his 
grandmother to perfection — all the time looking like the 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


149 


smiling Christ on the knees of the Virgin. The fish- 
women nearly killed themselves laughing, and he, thus 
encouraged, generally wound up his sentences vdth an 
oath. But he was charming, because he was ignorant of 
the enormity of the words he uttered. 

Winter came. Much was very chilly that year, and 
took a great fancy to the Inspector’s office, which was 
furnished with a table, an iron safe, a sofa, two arm-chairs, 
and a stove. It was by this stove, that Much delighted to 
establish himself. Florent adored children, and wlienever 
he saw the boy wistfully looking through the window, he 
bade him enter. 

The first words uttered by Much, astonished him 
somewhat. 

‘^It is devilish cold,” he said, in his baby voice. And 
then with a laugh, which sounded like water running out 
of a narrow-necked bottle, he added : 

'^Do you really go every night, to warm my Aunt 
Claire’s feet?” 

Florent found a strange fascination in this child. La 
belle Normande did not interfere, although she was her- 
self very reserved ; and Florent cherished the idea finally, 
of bringing the little fellow up in a better way. He 
fancied himself back again with his brother Quenu, in 
the old room in la Hue Royer-Collard. 

He found infinite pleasure in the companionship of this 
young creature, to whom he taught the alphabet at once. 
Much showed the quick intelligence of the child of 
Parisian streets. He liked to look at pictures. He liked 


150 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


the warmth of the stove, on which he could roast potatoes 
and chestnuts. But of this last he soon wearied, and he 
stole from his Aunt Claire white bait, which he hung on a 
string, and eat when roasted without bread. One day he 
brought a carp, but this was too much for Florent, who 
put an end to the cooking. At the end of two months. 
Much could read, and his copy-book was by no means bad. 

In the evening, at home, the child talked incessantly of 
his dear friend Florent, who could draw trees and men in 
huts. The Normande therefore lived, so to speak, in the 
intimate companionship of the man whom she would 
gladly have strangled. She went so far one day, as to 
lock Much in, that he might not go to his friend’s, but the 
child wailed so vociferously, that she was glad to let 
him out. 

She was in reality anything but firm, in spite of her 
determined airs, and when the child told her how happy 
he had been, she felt a vague sensation of gratitude. 

And later she was more moved, when he read to her 
a paragraph from a newspaper, which had wrapped a loaf 
of bread, and by degrees she came to the conclusion, 
though she did not say so, that perhaps Florent was not 
such a bad man after all. She felt for him a certain 
respect and no small curiosity. She therefore suddenly 
decided that it would be much better fun to be amiable to 
‘Hhe cousin” than to quarrel with him, *^and would make 
the fat Lisa much madder.” 

What does your friend say of me?” she asked Much, 
one morning, as she was dressing him. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


151 


Nothing at all.” 

‘^Well, then, tell him I am much obliged for his 
teaching you to read.” 

Henceforward the child always had a message to carry 
from the Inspector to his mother, or from his mother to 
the Inspector. La belle Normande walked into the 
Inspector’s office one day, while Much was taking his 
writing lesson. She was very gentle and very compli- 
mentary, while Florent was far more embarrassed than 
she. They talked only of the child. As there was some 
difficulty in continuing the lessons at the office, she asked 
him to come to her in the evening. Then there was some 
question on her part of remuneration, which he promptly 
refused. She laughed, and said that she should pay with 
her finest fish then. 

Thus was peace established; La belle Normande even 
took Florent under her protection. The Inspector was 
accepted from that moment in the market ; the fish-women 
saying that he was far better than his predecessor. 
Mother Mehuden was the only one who rebelled under this 
new dispensation. She still retained malice against this 
man, of whom she spoke in the most contemptuous terms. 
One morning when Florent stopped at Claire’s stall, she 
turned away petulantly, and would not speak to him. He 
was so surprised that he spoke of it to La belle Normande. 

Never mind,” she said. ‘^Claire is always contrary, 
and does this only to make me angry.” 

She had triumphed, and went to her stall each day 
more coquettish in her costume, and with her hair more 
elaborately dressed. 


152 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


"When she met La belle Lisa, she looked at her with dis- 
dain; she even laughed in her face. The certainty she 
felt of annoying her old friend by taking away ^^the 
cousin,” put her in the best of spirits. At this time she 
took it into her head to dress Much with more care, in 
Scotch plaids, and a velvet cap, for Much had gone about 
in rags. 

Unfortunately, it was about this same time that the 
affection of Much for water developed itself more strongly. 
The ice had broken ; the weather was warmer, and he took 
his usual bath from the faucets, arrayed in his new 
garments. 

His mother surprised him just as he had placed some 
small fish which he had stolen from his Aunt Claire, in his 
velvet cap, and sent them swimming down the gutter. 

Florent lived eight months in the Halles. These eight 
months, after his seven long years of suffering, were as 
a peaceful slumber. His simple little office pleased him 
with its quiet and solitude. But after these eight months 
had elapsed, he became a little restless. He was filled 
with a vague dissatisfaction at the emptiness of his 
existence, and this dissatisfaction was rapidly growing 
into a certain nervous excitement. 

Every day was like its fellow. He was surrounded by 
the same odors, and by the same noises. Through the 
hoarse cries of the auctioneers in the market, he heard the 
ringing of the distant bells. Sometimes he was detained 
in the markets until noon, arranging the endless quarrels 
and disputes. He saw huge baskets of cooked lobsters, 


153 


THE MAEKETS OF PARIS, 

X 

and gloved gentlemen lightly touching them. Further on 
were the women of the Quartier, bare-headed, bargaining 
for their fish. Sometimes he caught sight of a lady 
followed by a servant in her long white apron. 

His inspection always ended at the stalls which dis- 
played the herring and the sardines from Nantes, on their 
beds of green leaves. In the afternoon the markets were 
quiet, and he shut himself up in his office, and enjoyed 
the most agreeable hours of the day. The fish-women sat 
knitting behind their counters, waiting on an occasional 
customer, who came late, hoping for a better bargain. 

When night came, the fish were all put away on beds 
of ice ; then Florent was free to go home. 

He carried away with him the smell of the fish in his 
clothing. At first he did not suffer from this ; but, as the 
Spring came in, it became very disagreeable to him, and in 
time the smell from the fish-market grew absolutely 
insupportable. It seemed to him that he was haunted 
by the smell of food in his home as well as in his office ; 
it followed him through closed doors and windows. 

Sometimes, in his restlessness, he went down the wide 
I stairs into the cellars, dimly lighted by gas, where the 
i air, though a little close, was cool and uncontaminated by 
\ the smell which was especially obnoxious to him. He 
stood by the side of the great tank in which the supplies 
\of fish were held in reserve. 

He listened to the incessant soft drip of water falling 
from the four corners of the central urn, and this noise 
calmed him. He was not at home either with the people. 


154 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


Their roughness galled him. The women worried him ; he 
was only at ease with Madame Fran9ois. She was so 
heartily glad at his having found a situation that he was 
quite touched. Lisa and La belle Normande made him 
uncomfortable with their laughs and significant looks, but 
Madame rran9ois was different. She laughed too, but 
her laugh was sympathetic. ^ Besides, she was a courageous 
creature, and bore her hard life well. ( Florent saw her 
struggling through the storm just at daybreak, with the 
wheels of her wagon covered with mud up to the hubs, 
and Balthasar’s very belly encrusted from the heavy roads 
between Nanterre and Paris. 

The animal was always caressed and pitied, rubbed off 
with straw and polished down with an old apron. 

We have to be careful about colics,” she said. ^^Ah ! 
poor old Balthasar ! when we came over the bridge at 
Neuilly, you thought you were going down into the Seine, 
did you not ? It poured then ! ” 

Balthasar went to the inn, but she, poor woman, sat in 
the rain and sold her vegetables. The sidewalk was a 
sea of liquid mud. The vegetables had none of the beauty 
that was theirs on sunny mornings, and the vendors swore 
at the Administration, which refused to build them a roof^ 
on the ground that rain did not hurt vegetables. 

No matter how merciless the rain might be, however, 
never did Florent find Madame Fran9ois out of temper or 
discouraged. She shook herself occasionally, like a 
water-dog, and said she was neither sugar nor salt, and 
should not melt. He insisted, sometimes, on her going 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


155 


into Lebigre’s, where they drank some hot wine. Her 
friendly face enchanted him, and the smell of the woods 
and fields which hung about her refreshed him. 

“ You must come to Nanterre, my boy,” she said, 
‘^You must see my kitchen-garden. Never did you 
behold such thyme as mine, and never did I smell any- 
thing so nasty as your Paris ! ” 

And off she went, with the water dripping from her, at 
every step, leaving Florent cheered and encouraged. He 
worked hard, as in this way he kept within bounds the 
nervous energy which was his characteristic. He was also 
very methodical, and he shut himself up two evenings in 
the week to write his great work on Cayenne. 

He lighted his fire, saw that the plants at the foot of his 
bed were sheltere4 from its heat, and, seating himself at 
his table, worked until midnight. He had pushed the 
prayer-book to the back of the drawer, which had become 
full, by degrees, of notes and slips of paper, and of all sorts 
of manuscript. The work on Cayenne made no rapid 
advance, as it was constantly interfered with by other 
projects. He had in his mind a plan which would revo- 
lutionize the Halles — a new way of estimating the taxes, 
and finally another plan, as yet a little confused in detail — 
a humanitarian law, by which a certain amount of the vast 
supply of food which poured daily into Paris, would find 
its way to every household. 

With bowed head, he bent over his work in the soft, 
subdued light of his attic. Occasionally a chaffinch, 
which he had picked up one snowy day, in the market, 


156 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


deluded by the idea that the light meant morning, would 
utter a few clear notes. This and his pen running over 
the paper were the only sounds in the room. 

Unfortunately, Florent hankered after politics. They 
had cost him so dearly, that they naturally became most 
precious to him. He, under certain circumstances, would 
have become a teacher in some little provincial town, and 
been quite happy in his metier. But he had been treated 
like a wild beast, and he looked upon himself as conse- 
crated by his exile to some great struggle. 

His nervous restlessness was but the reaction from the 
long torpor of Cayenne, from the bitterness caused by his 
unmerited sufferings, by his oaths to avenge the injustice 
from which he and all humanity in him had suffered, 
l/ He began to look on the Halles as a great animal, 
digesting a tremendous meal. Around him were solid 
figures and round faces, offering a continual protest against 
his pallid face and emaciated form. They seemed to say 
that peaceable people could grow fat and be comfortable. 

He with clenched hands, brooded over his wrongs, until 
he became more irritated at the remembrance of his exile, 
than he was at the time of his return to France. He 
would drop his pen and think. The dying fire lighted up 
his face, and his lamp smoked, while the bird, with his 
head under his wing, quietly slejit. Sometimes Auguste, 
seeing a light under his door, would knock and ask to come 
in. Florent opened the door with some impatience. The 
young man would take a chair in front of the fire, saying 
little, and giving no explanation of why he had come. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


157 


All the time his eyes were fixed on the photograph of 
himself and Augustine. Florent finally came to the con- 
clusion that he liked to come to this room, merely because 
his fiancee had once lived there. 

One evening he asked, with a smile, if he had not 
guessed aright. 

Perhaps,’^ answered Auguste, in surprise ; the question 
having explained his own feelings to himself. 

I did not think of it, and if I should tell Augustine 
so, she would only laugh,^^ he said. 

When he talked at all, it was about the eating-house 
which he intended to establish with Augustine at 
Plassans. He seemed so secure of his future, that Florent 
felt a certain respect for him, as for any fellow-creature 
who went straight to his aim. 

On such evenings Florent was more discontented than 
usual, and only recovered his equilibrium, when he had 
said to himself, over and over again : 

But this Auguste is a perfect brute ! 

Each month he went to Clamart to see Monsieur 
Valoque. The poor man lingered along, much to the 
astonishment of Gavard. At each visit made by Florent, 
the invalid declared that he was better, and almost ready 
to resume work. Florent sat by the side of the bed and 
tried to cheer him. He laid on the table the fifty francs 
which he had agreed to give up, and each time Yaloque 
insisted he would not take the money. Then they 
talked of other things, and the money still lay there. 

When Florent went away, Madame Yaloque followed 

10 


158 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 


him to the door. She was pale and small, and very sad. 
She spoke of the frightful expense attendant on her 
husband^s illness — the beef-tea, the Bordeaux, and the 
medicines; and as tears filled the poor woraan’-s eyes, 
Florent begged her to accept some assistance from him 
without her husband’s knowledge. She accepted fifty 
francs, but during the month she often wrote to him, 
calling him her saviour, filling three pages with her 
gratitude, and ending by asking for ten francs. Finally 
the whole salary went to the Valoque manage. The 
husband probably knew nothing of it, and the wife was 
pitifully humble. 

This good action was his great joy ; he concealed it as 
if it were something to be ashamed of. 

Florent’s needs were small, for he had no expenses at 
his brother’s. After a short time his life was as regular as 
a clock. He worked in his attic two evenings ; taught 
little Much two others, from eight to nine ; spent one 
evening with Lisa, and the rest of his time with 
Gavard and his friends at the restaurant. His duties as 
a teacher at the Mehudens’ were not especially easy, but the 
old house. pleased him. The lower rooms were occupied 
by a man who sold cooked vegetables, the sharp smell 
of which greeted him as soon as the door opened. 

The Mehudens occupied the whole of the second story. 
The old mother would never consent to move, notwith- 
standing the entreaties of her two daughters, who wanted 
one of the new houses in the wide streets ; but all in vain. 
She said she had lived there, and there she would die. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


159 


She contented herself, however, with a dark room, leaving 
the better chambers to Claire and La Normande. 

The latter, with the authority of an elder sister, took 
the one overlooking the street, which was really a fine 
room. Claire was so displeased at this, that she refused to 
occupy the adjoining one, which opened on the court-yard, 
and took as her own, a sort of garret, on the other side of 
the stairs. Herein, when she was displeased, she locked 
herself, and was deaf to all sounds from without. 

When Florent presented himself, the Mehudens had 
just finished dinner. Much jumped into his arms, and 
W'hen the shining oil-cloth was wiped down, the lessons 
began on a corner of the table. La belle Normande 
greeted him warmly ; she knitted or mended under the 
light of the same lamp, and often dropped her needle to 
listen to the lesson. 

She soon had a great esteem for this man who was so 
well informed, and was at the same time endowed with 
such angelic patience. She did not think him in the least 
ugly now. 

Do, please, mamma, push your chair farther back,^^ 
said the child, angrily. ‘‘Just see this blot!” 

By degrees she insinuated a few words against La belle 
Lisa. She declared that she concealed her age — that she 
laced so tightly she could not breathe, and that the reason 
she always came down in the morning without a hair out of 
place, was because she was so hideous in dishabille, and then 
she raised her arms above her head, to show that she wore 
no corsets ; her figure was superb, and every undulation was 


160 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


to be seen under her loose camisole. The lesson was inter- 
rupted. Much was quite interested in seeing his mother 
lift her arms in this way. Florent laughed, and tliought 
women were strange creatures. The rivalry of Lisa and 
La belle Normande amused him. 

Much in the meantime finished his copy. Florent set 
others on slips of paper. He particularly affected the 
words, ‘^Tyrannical, anti- Constitutional, Revolutionary,^' 
and he made the child copy phrases like these : 

“The day of justice will come." 

“ When the hour strikes, the guilty will fall." 

He did this mechanically, merely setting down the 
ideas which were in his brain. He forgot Much, La belle 
Normande and all his surroundings. 

Much copied everything, filling long pages with 
“ unconstitutional " and “ tyrannically." 

All this time Mother Mehuden was wandering around 
the table, grumbling. She was by no means kindly dis- 
posed toward Florent. She said it was absolute folly to 
set the child at work at this hour, when children ought to 
be asleep in their beds. 

She would certainly have shown “ the lank fellow " to 
the door, if her daughter had not fiercely declared, that she 
would leave the house, if she could not receive in it 
such friends as she chose. Nevertheless, the dispute 
recommenced each evening. 

“I tell you," said the old woman, “that he has a 
treacherous eye; and then I never trust thi n me n; 
he is as flat as a board ; he has no insides~T do really 
believe." 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


161 


She talked in this way because she saw how things were 
going. She spoke with admiration of Monsieur Lebigre, 
who at this time was very gallant toward La belle Nor- 
mande. He not only smelt a good dowry, but he thought 
of her beauty which would be such an addition to his 
counter. 

But La Normande shrugged her shoulders and turned 
away. When her mother persisted, she said, angrily : 

Let me alone, will you ? I shall do as I please ! ” 

And going out of the room, she slammed the door. 
She abused the ascendency she had acquired in the house, 
but her mother distrusted her to that point, that when she 
heard a noise in the night, she crept to her daughter’s door 
to ascertain if Florent were not there. 

But Florent had a bitterer enemy even, than she in the 
house. As soon as he entered the room, Claire rose with- i/ 
out a word, took a candle and went to her own attic, and 
they heard her lock her door, with a snap. 

One night, her sister asked the Inspector to dinner, and 
Claire (eafjiers in the passage-way. She sometimes was 
not seenTor a week, and when she came out, her eyes were 
restless and suspicious. 

As Florent one evening was going away, he passed 
Claire’s door, which was wide open. He saw her turn 
very red as he glanced at her. 

This hostile attitude on her part saddened him, and 
only the timidity he always felt toward women, prevented 
him from asking an explanation. He hesitated, but 
catching a glimpse of Mademoiselle Saget’s pale face 
looking down from the upper landing, he went on. 


162 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


He had not gone ten steps when he heard Claire’s door 
violently closed. From that' time Mademoiselle Saget 
I declared that Madame Quenu’s cousin had led both the 
■ Mehuden women astray. 

Florent rarely thought of them, except when they were 
before his eyes. ( His manner toward women was that of 
a man who has never had any success with them. ) He 
expended too much of his virility in dreaming. He 
liked La belle Normande in a friendly sort of way. She 
was good-hearted, even if she did allow her temper to run 
away with her sometimes. But when she drew her chair 
close to him, and looked over the book he held, he was 
uncomfortable. About her hair and skirts clung always a 
smell of the sea; her magnificent figure and clear-cut 
features, gave her the air of an antique statue which had 
been lying at the bottom of the sea and brought to the 
surface by some fisherman’s net. 

Florent did not admire her especially. She was too 
large, too powerfully built to please him, in spite of 
Mademoiselle Saget’s statement that he was her lover. 
The old maid had quarrelled with La Normande about a 
fish she had purchased, and immediately became very 
friendly toward La belle Lisa, and hoped in that way to 
make the acquaintance of Florent, who, however, contrived 
to escape her clutches. The cousin excited her curiosity to 
the most extraordinary degree. Since he frequented the 
Mehudens, she spent most of her time hanging over the 
railing of the staircase. 

She knew that La belle Lisa was by no means pleased 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


163 


to see riorent go to “ these women/^ and therefore went 
regularly to the eating-house to tell her all that was going 
on. She put her hands on the counter as she talked. 
She never bought anything, but contented herself with 
saying, over and over again : 

“ He was there yesterday, and La Norinande called him 
Mear^ out in the corridor.” 

The day after, she chose to believe that she had seen 
Florent leave Claire’s room. She rushed into Lisa’s 
presence, saying that it was a disgrace. 

saw it with my own eyes,” she declared. “He 
just goes from one to the other, and there is the old 
mother sleeping in her room between the daughters. I 
think it is simply scandalous.” 

Lisa shrugged her shoulders. She said little, encourag- 
ing the old maid’s gossip only by her silence. When the 
allusions became broader, she frowned and said, under her 
breath ; 

“ No, this will nev^er do!” 

Mademoiselle Saget answered that all women were not 
as respectable as herself. She ought to have found that 
out by this time. She was too indulgent to the cousin. 
A man of his age ought not to run after every petticoat. 
Was he married ? 

But Lisa would never say a word about “ the cousin,” 
and when Mademoiselle Saget had gonfe, immediately 
called to Augustine to bring a cloth to rub off the spots 
left by the fingers of the little old woman on the shining 
marble. 


164 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


It is disgusting ! ” she muttered. 

The rivalry of La belle Lisa and La belle Normande be- 
came daily more aggressive — the latter being quite sure 
that she had stolen Lisa’s lover. Each woman evinced 
her hostility according to her temperament ; one, tranquil 
and contemptuous, with the air of a woman who draws 
her skirts closely around her, to keep them from contami- 
nation — the other insolent, loud and gay, with the manner 
of a successful duellist who is eager for a fray. Their 
glances crossed each other like swords, when La Normande 
passed the eating-shop and Lisa stood at the door. 

When Lisa went to the fish-market, she turned up her 
nose Avhen she passed her rival’s stall, and bought at the 
next, a turbot or a salmon. 

To hear the rivals talk of each other, one would believe 
that they sold spoiled fish and tainted meat. 

They could see each other, too, from their respective 
jdaces of business. 

The great cow is up ! ” cried La belle Normande. ^^She 
is pulling her corset-lace as tight as if it were at the end 
of one of her big sausages.” 

At the same moment, on the other side of the street, 
Lisa was saying to her assistant: 

‘^Do you see that poor creature opposite? She is losing 
all her good looks with the life she leads. Do you see her 
ear-rings? It is a great pity for a girl like that to wear 
such expensive ones.” 

It is a great pity for the one who has to pay for them,’^ 
answered Augustine, complacently. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


165 


But in the afternoon the contest waged hotter. La 
belle Nonnande embroidered with the most delicate of 
needles. This exasperated Lisa, who said : 

She had best darn her boy’s stockings with those red 
hands ! ” 

Lisa was knitting as usual. 

‘^It is always the same stocking, too,” remarked the 
other. She eats so much that she falls asleep over her 
work ! ” 

The two women forbade their children to speak to each 
other. Pauline and Much before this, had been excellent 
friends — the little girl with her fresh, crisp skirts, and the 
bare-legged boy paddling in the gutter. One day, when 
Much came for Pauline as usual, Lisa dismissed him as 
if he had been a beggar. 

‘‘ He cannot play with my child,” she said. I could 
never have an easy moment ; he has such examples before 
him.” 

The child was only seven. 

Mademoiselle Saget nodded her head sagaciously. 

“ You are right ; he is thoroughly depraved. He was 
found in the cellar, the other day, with one of the neigh- 
bors’ little girls.” 

La belle Yormande, when Much ran to her weeping, to 
tell her of his disappointment, was perfectly furious. She 
would have liked to break every pane of glass in Lisa’s 
windows, but contented herself with whipping Much. 

‘^If you ever go there again,” she raged, ^^you will have 
an account to settle with me ! ” 


166 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


The real victim of these two women was Florent, for 
they would never have quarrelled but for him — it was he 
who had set them all by the ears, for until his arrival they 
had lived in dull peace. 

La belle Lisa preserved the attitude toward her brother- 
in-law of a judge. She showed him clearly that she 
utterly disapproved of his conduct^ but did her best not 
to show the jealousy she felt. Honest woman as she was, 
and thorough as was her disdain of Florent, she never 
saw him leave the house to go to la Rue Pirouette without 
a pang. 

The dinners at the Quenus’ were less cheerful. The . 
excessive neatness of the dining-room became almost rigid. 
Florent hardly dared eat, lest he should let a few crumbs 
fall on the floor. 

Lisa said with a smile one day ; 

It seems to me that you grow thinner and thinner.” 

In her tone there was something of the distrust, which 
Mother Mehuden openly acknowledged feeling toward 
thin people, and Quenu hazarded more than one allusion 
to the dissipated life his brother was believed to lead. 

Lisa, however, never made the smallest allusion to La 
belle Norrnande; and one night, when her name dropped 
from Quenu^s unwary lips, she became so icy that he never 
repeated the offence. 

Lisa never spoke of Florent to her husband. She 
thought it unwise to make the smallest difference between 
the brothers, unless absolutely necessary. At this time 
she was very tolerant, and avoided every allusion which 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


167 


could remind the Inspector, that he ate and drank with her 
without paying for the privilege ; but one day she said to 
Quenu : 

^^\Ye are never alone now. If you wish to speak to 
me, you must wait until we go to bed.’^ 

And one evening, as she was sewing, she said to her 
husband : 

‘^Why does not your brother buy himself some under- 
wear? I have been obliged to give him three old shirts 
of yours.” 

‘^He never knows what he does with his money,” 
answered Quenu. 

‘‘And it is none of our business,” replied his wife. 

Only once did she lose her repose of manner. La 
Normande had presented Florent with a fine salmon. 
He did not know how to refuse, nor what to do with it, 
and finally carried it home to Lisa. 

“ Suppose you make a pat4 of it,” he said, ingenuously. 

She looked at him with whitened lips. Then, in a 
voice that she strove to render firm, she answered : 

“ Do you think we are in need of food ? Thank 
Heaven, we have enough to eat yet. Take it away.” 

“ Will you not cook it for me?” asked Florent, amazed 
at her anger. 

Her anger burst forth. 

“Do you think this house is a country inn? Tell the 
persons who gave it to you to cook it. It shall not be 
done in my kettles or pans. Take it away, I tell you.” 

He carried it to Monsieur Lebigre. Eose was told to 


168 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


make a pat6 of it, and this pate was eaten the same evening, 
Monsieur Gavard adding some oysters to the feast. By 
degrees Florent gradually fell into the way of spending 
more time at the Cabaret. Sometimes, when he had 
established himself for a quiet evening’s work in his attic, 
the absolute quiet of the room grated upon him, and he 
dropped everything, and went off to listen to the sarcastic 
denunciations of Charvet, and to the bitter axioms of 
Logre. 

One evening Logre, having been more violent than 
usual, brought his fist down on the table furiously, and 
declared that if the men of to-day were worth anything, 
they would pull down the government, and he added that 
the day was not far off when this would be done, and that 
they had best hold themselves in readiness. 

Heads were then drawn closely together, voices were 
lowered, and Gavard from that day looked upon himself 
as belonging to a secret society — a most dangerous organi- 
zation. 

Discussions were renewed night after night for months, 
then followed questions of organizations, — questions of 
ends and means — questions of strategy and future gov- 
ernment. 

As soon as Bose had served the party, Cl^mence included, 
the doors were closed, and the stance was opened. 

Charvet and Florent were the two, to whom the others 
naturally listened. Gavard could not hold his tongue, 
however, and little by little he told the story of Cayenne, 
and promoted Florent to the distinction of a martyr, and 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


169 


one night, when some one said something against his 
friend, who was absent, he exclaimed : 

“ Do not attack Florent. He has been to Cayenne.” 

But Charvet was not abashed, even by this distinction, 
and he replied : 

Cayenne! Cayenne indeed! It is not such a bad 
place after all.” 

He then tried to prove that exile was nothing ; that it 
was far worse to remain in a country oppressed by trium- 
phant Despotism. He insisted, that only simpletons were 
arrested on the Second of December, and seemed much 
out of temper, however, that he had not arrived at that 
distinction himself. 

Florent called himself a Socialist, and was supported by 
Alexandre and Lacaille. As to Gavard, having been 
reproached for his fortune, he more than once announced 
himself to be a Communist. 

The fact is,” said Charvet, in his decisive tone, the 
trunk is rotten, and it should be cut down ! ” 

Yes,” answered Logre, standing up to make his assent 
more imposing. 

Yes, you are right,” he repeated, pompously. 

Kobine approved with a silent nod, which became more 
frequent the more Bevolutionary the propositions became. 
His eyes gleamed at the word guillotine; he shut them 
partially, and seemed to be looking at the thing itself, and 
then he rubbed his chin with a gentle purr of satisfaction. 

I think,” said Florent, in a voice which had a tone of 
sadness — think that the tree should be preserved to 


170 


THE MABKETS OF PARIS. 


graft upon it a new life. It is time now to think of the 
workman. Our movement should be a social one, and I 
defy you to restrain the people from advancing their 
claims. They will have their share now : they are weary 
of standing back ! ” 

These words filled Alexandre with wild enthusiasm. 

“ Yes,” he cried, “ that is true ! ” 

^^All revolutions,” said Lacaille, ^^have been for the 
middle-classes. We must have our turn ! ” 

“ But,” exclaimed Charvet, do you expect me to fight 
for the workmen if they refuse to fight for me? But 
after all, that is not the question. France cannot be 
accustomed to- the exercise of Liberty, without ten years of 
Revolutionary dictatorship.” 

Particularly,” said Cl^mence, in a low, distinct tone, 
“ as the workman is not mature, and needs guidance.” 

She spoke but rarely. This strange, grave, quiet 
woman listened like any man, to these political discus- 
sions. She sat leaning against the wall, looking from one 
to the other of the speakers, with a nod of assent or a 
frown of disapproval, which proved that she fully under- 
stood what was said, and that she had, moreover, decided 
opinions on the most complicated subjects. Sometimes 
she rolled a cigarette and smoked it slowly and contem- 
platively. She had the air of sitting in judgment, and 
looked as if she had prizes to distribute at the end. She 
evidently thought it due to her position as a woman, to 
reserve her opinion, and not mingle in the discussions. 
Sometimes, however, in the heat of them, she uttered a 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


171 


word or two : and Struck the nail on the head,” to use 
Gavard’s expression; or put the climax to something 
which Charvet had said. The truth was, that she thought 
herself far cleverer than any of these men, with the 
exception of Robine, whom she respected for his silence. 

Florent, like the other men, paid very little attention to 
Clemence, whom, in fact, they regarded as one of them- 
selves. They shook her hand as if they would loosen her 
arm from its socket. 

One evening Florent heard her and Charvet talking 
over her accounts. Charvet asked her to lend him ten 
francs, but she said no; that they must first know just 
how they stood. They lived together on the basis of 
freedom, both in love and money. Each paid his 
expenses strictly, and thus were slaves to no man. The 
rent, food, washing and amusements were all divided, 
and this evening CRmence proved to Charvet that he 
already owed her five francs. She then gave him the ten 
for which he asked, saying : 

Remember you now owe me fifteen ! You must pay 
me when you get your money for little L6hudier’s 
lessons.” 

When Rose was summoned to receive the money due 
from the little circle, Cl4mence was laughed at, because 
she ordered a glass of ^^grog.” Charvet said she did 
it to humiliate him because he earned less than she. 
Although he laughed, he felt this fact keenly, and 
inwardly protested against it, in spite of his theory of the 
equality of the sexes. 


172 


THE MAEKETS OF PARIS. 


If these discussions amounted to little, they at least 
exercised the lungs of these gentlemen. Sometimes they 
talked so loudly that Rose, serving some blouse at the 
counter, would cast an uneasy glance toward the closed 
door. 

^^They are quarrelling in there!’’ said the blouse, 
wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. 

‘^No danger,” answered Monsieur Lebigre, quietly. 

It is only gentlemen talking.” 

Lebigre, who was strict enough with his other customers, 
let these talk and shout as much as they pleased, without 
any interference from him. He sat for hours on his soft- 
cushioned chair, sleepily watching Rose uncork her bottles 
and wipe her glasses. But no matter how sleepy he was, 
he always rose when the discussions in the private room 
became at all loud, and placed himself where he could 
hear what was said, and sometimes even, he after a light 
tap on the door, knocked and went in, and Gavard himself 
said that Lebigre could be relied on if troubles came. 

But one morning, at market, when Florent interfered 
between Rose and a fish-woman in a tremendous quarrel 
that took place apropos of some herring, he heard the 
latter call Rose the spy’s mistress,” and the dirty rag 
of the Prefecture.” 

When peace was established, he went about quietly and 
informed himself as far as he was able in regard to 
Lebigre. 

One said that he had been on the police force ; another 
that he was a usurer, and lent to the market-people at 
the most fearful rate of interest. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


173 


Florent was much disturbed, and that same evening he 
in a low voice told his friends what he had heard. 

His discourse was received with derision. 

^^Poor Florent!” said Char vet, maliciously, because 
he has been at Cayenne, he always thinks the police are at 
his heels.” 

Gavard gave his word of honor that Lebigre was 
honest and honorable. But Logre was very angry; he 
twisted himself on his chair until it cracked, and said that 
it was a little too much, to hear these constant suggestions 
of the police. For his part he would rather stay at 
home, and think no more of politics. Had he not been 
transported twice? 

He looked so ferocious, that the others nodded an 
assent; but Lacaille, when he heard the word usurer, 
turned away his head. 

In fact, the plot made but little progress. At the 
beginning of the Summer, Florent had been somewhat 
distrustful, but had now begun to believe in the possi- 
bility of some Be volutionary movement. He occupied 
himself with the idea quite seriously, taking notes and 
drawing up plans. He even induced his brother to 
accompany him to the Cabaret one evening, with the feel- 
ing that he was still his pupil, and should be now launched 
ill politics. Quenu liked this new experience; he liked 
the noise ; he liked the novelty of the presence of a woman 
in such a place. 

La belle Lisa noticed his haste to leave home in the 
evening. She said nothing; but when he and Florent 
11 


174 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


went away, she stood at lier door and saw them enter the 
Cabaret with stormy eyes and compressed lips. 

Mademoiselle Saget one evening recognized Quenu’s 
shadow on the ground-glass windows of the private room 
which looked out on la Rue Pirouette. She had found 
an excellent post of observation, where she soon learned to 
know every shadow. Sometimes she felt as if she might 
find out something more tangible if she were on the spot. 
So she took her cordial bottle on the pretence that she 
must ‘‘take something the first thing in the morning. 

She made Rose wash her bottle in order to spend more 
time at the counter ; but at last she could find no further 
excuse for delay, and she reluctantly turned to leave, when 
she heard Quenu say in a childish tone : 

“It is high time that these Deputies and Ministers 
should be put down ! ” 

Before eight o^clock the next morning Mademoiselle 
Saget was at Lisa^s. She found La Sarriette and Madame 
Lecoeur there, buying hot sausages for their breakfast. As 
the little old maid had drawn them into her quarrel with 
La belle Normande, they naturally became quite intimate 
with Lisa. They declared that the fish-woman was abom- 
inable, and that Florent was getting tired of managing 
the two, and was handing one of them over to his friend 
Gavard ; the four went often to supper at Baratte’s. 

On the especial morning of which we write, the old 
maid had prepared a blow for La belle Lisa. 

“I saw Monsieur Quenu,” she said, in her sweetest 
voice. “They have a good time, those gentlemen, in that 
private room, where they make so much noise.” 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


175 


Lisa did not choose to look as if she heard, but, in 
reality, not a word escaped her. Mademoiselle Saget 
went on ; 

‘‘They had a woman with them. Oh! not Monsieur 
Quenu. I donT say it was he, for I don’t know — ” 

“ It was Clemence,” interrupted La Sarriette. “ She 
puts on such airs just because she was educated at a 
boarding-school. She lives with a ragged Professor. I 
have seen them together many a time.” 

“I know,” said the old maid, who had known all the 
time and merely wished to disturb Lisa, who, however, 
looked as placid as usual; she seemed interested in 
something that was going on in the market. 

Then the other tried again, and, addressing Madame 
Lecoeur, she said : 

“If I were you, I would advise my brother-in-law to 
be prudent. They say the most awful things in that 
room. Men really seem to have no sense with their 
politics. If they should be heard, things might go hard 
with them.” 

“Gavard does as he chooses,” sighed Madame Lecoeur; 
“ but this is the drop too much. Anxiety will soon use 
me up entirely.” 

“Oh!” answered Mademoiselle Saget, “it will do no 
harm, so long as only a safe person, like myself, hears 
them. But last night when Monsieur Quenu said — ” 

She stopped. Lisa had certainly started. 

“Monsieur Quenu said that all the Ministers and 
Deputies ought to be shot!” 


176 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 


Lisa turned around : she was very pale, 

^^Did Quenu say that?’’ she asked. 

^^Yes, and much more that I cannot remember. But 
there is no harm done, for, as I say, it was only I, who 
heard him, and you know that I am as safe as possible. I 
know, too, how much harm such words might do a man. 
It is between ourselves entirely.” 

Lisa was herself again. She was too proud to allow 
these people to see that there was the smallest cloud between 
herself and her husband. She smiled faintly and said : 

^^It is all nonsense, my dear woman.” 

When the three women were on the sidewalk, they 
agreed that Lisa looked extremely discomfited, and they 
thought that there would be trouble soon among these 
people. Madame Lecoeur asked what was done with 
people who were arrested for political reasons. The old 
maid said she had no idea, she only knew that they were 
never seen again. 

La Sarriette whereupon jauntily remarked that perhaps 
they were thrown into the Seine. 

That day at breakfast and dinner Lisa made no remarks, 
nor when in the evening her husband went away with 
Florent. 

That night the discussion was so interesting that it was 
prolonged until after midnight. 

Quenu went home with rather an uneasy conscience. 
He opened the three or four doors of his house as softly as 
possible, and crossed the salon on tiptoe. On entering his 
bed-room he was annoyed to see that Lisa had left a 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


177 


candle burning. As he took off his boots the clock struck 
half-past one, with a clear, ringing sound, which was so 
loud that he started, and turned a glance of reproach upon 
the shining Guttenberg. He could only see Lisa’s back. 
She lay with her head buried in her pillows, but he knew 
she was not asleep — that her eyes were wide open, and 
fixed on the wall. Her large shoulders were eloquent with 
restrained anger. Quenu, considerably disconcerted by 
the silent reproach of her attitude, blew out the candle, and 
slipped into bed, lying on its very edge. Finally he fell 
asleep, not daring to say good-night. 

The next day he slept late. When he awoke, he lay for 
a few minutes looking at Lisa, who was seated before her 
Secretary, putting her papers in order. He summoned all 
his courage, and said from over the eider-down coverings : 

Why did not you wake me before ? What are you 
doing?” 

Putting my drawers in order,” she answered. 

He felt the weight lifted from his shoulders. But she 
added : 

^^You can’t tell what may happen. If the police 
should come — ” 

^^The police, did you say?” 

Yes, certainly. Are you occupied with politics now ? ” 
He raised himself, considerably startled by this unex- 
pected attack. 

I do not care a sou for politics,” he said. The police 
won’t come here, I fancy, for I shall not compromise 
myself — ” 


178 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


indeed,” answered Lisa, with a shrug of the 
shoulders. You merely wish to shoot everybody ! ” 

I!” 

‘‘Yes, and you shout this out at a second-rate Cabaret. 
Mademoiselle Saget heard you say it. All the whole 
Quartier know by this time that you are a ‘ Red.’ ” 

He pulled the sheets over his head. He was not more 
than half awake. He shivered as if he already heard the 
gendarmes at the door of his room. He looked at her 
with her hair dressed as usual ; her well-fitting gown was 
the one she always wore, and vaguely wondered at finding 
her so correct under these dramatic circumstances. 

“You know,” she continued, “that I leave you abso- 
lutely free.” She went on sorting her papers. “I have 
no desire to rule; you are the master. You can ruin us. 
It is my duty to look out for Pauline.” 

He protested, but she silenced him with a gesture. 

“ I do not wish to quarrel,” she said. “ Had you asked 
my advice — ” 

She rose and went from the bed to the window, and 
back again to her desk, from which she brushed a few 
grains of dust. 

“ For my part, I am grateful to the Government. Our 
business is prosperous, and I eat my dinner quietly and 
sleep undisturbed by cannon. How was it in ’48 ? Uncle 
Gradelle showed us on his books how he lost over six 
thousand francs at that time. Now that we have the 
Empire, all is prosperous. What more do you want? 
How will you be any better off, when you have shot 
e\’erybody ? ” 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


179 


She stood with her arms folded, looking at Queuu, who 
disappeared entirely. He put out his head at last and 
essayed an explanation, but became hopelessly involved in 
tlie political and social systems of Char vet and Florent. 
lie spoke of the future of the Democracy, of the regenera- 
tion of Society, in such confused terms, that Lisa shrugged 
her shoulders in despair. He finally attacked the Empire. 
It was the reign of utter profligacy, of theft by mailed 
hands. ‘ 

You see,” he said, repeating a phrase he had caught 
from Logre, we are at the mercy of a band of adventurers 
who are devastating France. We must have done with 
them ! ” 

‘^Very well; and what then? You are not obliged to 
assassinate, pillage, or steal, and what do we care what 
other people do ? ” 

She was quite magnificent, as she walked up and down 
the room in stately fashion. 

If the Government does vile things,” she continued, 
I do not wish to know it. Gavard says that the Emperor 
is a bad man, and that he is mixed up in some scandalous 
stories. This may be true — probably is — but that need 
not prevent your voting for him, for he does not ask you 
to lend him money, and you have only to let the Govern- 
ment understand, that you are satisfied in the prosperity 
of your business.” 

Listen to me,” and she seated herself on the edge of 
the bed. 

‘^Do you want your shop pillaged ? Do you want your 


180 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


cellar emptied, and your money taken? Do you think 
that if these men, at Monsieur Lebigre’s, triumph, that you 
will be as comfortable as you are now ? No, indeed. 
Then why do you talk so lightly of upsetting a Govern- 
ment which has given you this protection? You have a 
wife and a daughter. Your first duty is to them. You 
have no right to risk their happiness. There are plenty 
of people without a roof over their heads, who can risk 
their lives as much as they please, but as for you, my dear, 
simple husband, you had best make yourself comfortable, 
eat well, sleep well, and keep an easy conscience. France 
does not need you.” 

She laughed, and Quenu was entirely convinced that 
she ^vas right, and that she was a very pretty woman. He 
looked around the room, and his eyes fell on their portraits, 
which had quite an air of distinction, he thought. The 
chamber, too, was quite imposing. The squares of guipure 
gave an air of respectability to the chairs; the carpets and 
curtains had a most comfortable aspect, and he seemed to 
himself, to have risked the loss of all these at Monsieur 
Lebigre’s. 

^^Now,” said his wife, ^^you must promise to meddle no 
more with politics. Sustain the Government to the extent 
of your ability, and when you are old you will live in 
peace on your income.” 

Quenu again assented. 

^Mt is Gavard,” he murmured. 

The smile faded from her face. 

No ; it is not Gavard. I know who it is. He 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 181 

s])ould be surer of his own safety before he compromises 
others.^^ 

“ Do you mean Florent ? asked Quenu, timidly. 

She did not reply at once, but turned away to the 
Secretary. Then she said, in quick, decided tones : 

“Yes; I mean Florent. You knowl am very patient. 
On no consideration would I come between you and your 
brother. The ties of blood are sacred. But the truth is, 
that ever since your brother came, things have gone from 
bad to worse. No ; I will not say any more.” 

There was a long silence, and as Quenu looked in a 
dazed sort of a way at the ceiling, she continued, with 
more violence: 

“ He seems to have no idea either, of the sacrifices we 
make for him. He has Augustine’s chamber, and the poor 
girl has to sleep in a closet, without a breath of air. We 
feed him and supply all his needs, and he accepts every- 
thing as a matter of course. He makes money, but we see 
none of it.” 

“You know we have his inheritance in our business,” 
Quenu timidly observed. 

Lisa looked as if she were stunned. Her anger fell. 

“You are right,” she said, slowly; “we have his inheri* 
tance, and the account is in that drawer. He would not 
have it, as you remember, which proves the truth of my 
words, that he is a fellow without any sense. If he had 
been in the least practical, he would have done something 
with that money. I did not want it. I spoke to him 
several times, but be would not hear me. I wish you 
would compel him to take it.” 


182 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


Quenu uttered a groan. Lisa dropped that point 
No ; he is not like any person I ever saw before,” she 
continued. say this merely because we are talking 
about him. I should not trouble myself about what he 
did or where he went, were it not that the whole Quartier 
are talking about him. But I tell you positively that if he 
is going to meddle with politics again, and proposes to 
involve you, that I shall get rid of him at once. I warn 
you, and I hope you understand ! ” 

Florent was condemned. She made a strong effort to 
control herself, and not allow her husband to suspect the 
flood of bitterness which filled her soul. 

She went on. 

‘‘ He worries me,” she said ; he frightens me. Besides, 
he smells of fish, and I can’t eat a mouthful when he is at 
the table. He eats, though ; but why he does not grow fat 
passes my comprehension ! ” 

She went to the window as she spoke, and caught a 
glimpse of her brother-in-law just entering the market, 
and the look with which she followed him, was that of a 
combatant — of a woman who is resolved to triumph. 

When she turned, Quenu had risen. He was pale and 
shivering, not from cold, but with grief at the lack of har- 
mony between his wife and his brother. But Lisa smiled, 
and handed him his slippers, which courtesy touched him 
greatly. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


183 


CHAPTER IV. 

^^CHICKWEED FOR THE LITTLE BIRDS.” 

M ARJOLIN was found in the Marche des Innocents, 
among a pile of cabbages. No one ever knew 
what w'retched hands had put him there; he was about 
three years old when he was found — fat and happy, but so 
dull or backw'ard that he did not speak one word. 

- When a woman, turning over the cabbages, suddenly 
beheld him under a huge white cabbage, she uttered a 
little shriek, and he stretched out his arms to her. The 
whole day long the market talked of him. He laughed 
all day, and ate whatever was given him. The woman wdio 
first saw him kept him a month. She then passed him on 
to another, and then to another. When any one said to 
him ‘‘Where is your mother?” he made a droll little 
gesture, which took in the whole market-women. He was 
the child of the Halles, living first with one of the women, 
and then with another; dressed no one precisely knew 
how, but always having a few sous in his pocket. A 
beautiful girl who sold plants called him Marjolin, no one 
knew why, but the name was adopted. 

Marjolin was four when Mother Chantemesse found, in 
her turn, a little girl on the sidewalk, outside of the 
market. TJie child could not have been more than two, 
but she chattered like a magpie, in her childish dialect. 


184 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 


The woman thought she called herself Cadine, and said 
that her mother had told her to wait for her, but the little 
girl was quite ready to go with Mother Chantemesse, and 
seemed delighted with the crowd and all the pretty vege- 
tables. Mother Chantemesse was a goodish sort of woman, 
about sixty, who adored children, and had lost three of 
her own, and she adopted Cadine. 

One evening, as the old woman was walking through 
the market, leading Cadine by the right hand, Marjolin 
came up and took the child’s left hand, without the 
smallest ceremony. 

Well ! well ! ” said the old woman. You are too 
late; your place is taken.” 

But when the little fellow smiled in her face, it was too 
much for her, and she said to him : 

“ Come on, one may as well have two as one, I suppose.” 

And she walked home, leading the two children, whom 
she put to bed in an old hand-cart without wheels, which 
if it was a little hard, was clean. Thus did the two little 
imps grow up together and became inseparable. Mother 
Chantemesse heard them talking together softly in the 
night. Cadine, in her baby voice, would tell the most 
wonderful stories, to which Marjolin would listen in mute 
amazement. 

She invented stories, as she grew older, which filled him 
with terror. She was once heard to say that the night 
before she had seen a tall man, all in white, standing at 
the foot of their bed looking at them, and when Marjo- 
liii piteously begged for further details, she laughed 
delightedly, aud called him ^^a great simpleton.” 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


185 


For a long time their bed was their play-room. Cadine 
took her dolls there, and there their white teeth crunched 
stolen turnips. Each morning their adopted mother was 
astonished to find leaves and stones, apple-cores, and 
bundles of paper, rolled up to imitate dolls. On rainy 
days, or very cold days, they remained in bed half the 
day, and slept as much as they could. 

This room in la Rue de la Lingerie was a large attic, 
lighted by one window only. The children played hide-and- 
seek there, in the tall wardrobe and under the colossal bed. 
There were two or three tables, under which they could 
crawl. The house had a succession of gutters, into which 
the children threw stones with such success, that they broke 
two windows, and Mother Chantemesse was requested to 
leave. 

Cadine and Marjolin spent much of their time in the 
streets, which they fearlessly threaded. When it rained, 
they walked gravely, side by side, under an umbrella, 
which was all in slits, having been used for twenty years 
to shelter a vegetable-stand. They planted it in a corner 
of the market, and called it their house. 

On sunny, warm days they bathed their feet in the 
gutter, made little dams across it with stones, hid among 
the vegetables, and stayed there all night. 

Sometimes they would be caught, by the delighted 
chuckle which came from a mountain of lettuces, and when 
they were rooted out, they looked like scared birds dis- 
covered amid the bushes. Cadine could not live without 
Marjolin, and Marjolin wept when he lost Cadine. When 


186 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


they became separated they always looked for each other 
first among the cabbages, which they seemed to prefer to 
all other vegetables. 

Marjolin was eight and Cadine six, when Mother Chan- 
temesse first made them feel ashamed of their idleness. 
She promised them each a sou per day, if they would help 
her pare her vegetables. 

This was the specialty of Mother Chantemesse. On 
her table were piled little heaps of potatoes, turnips and 
carrots, scraped and peeled, ready to pop into the pot of 
some hurried housewife. She also had soup-herbs tied up, 
and bundles, ready for the pot au feu — four leeks, three 
carrots, one parsnip, two turnips, and some celery-tops. 

Then, too, there were vegetables, cut fine, lying on 
paper, ready for a Julienne.” 

Cadine was much more skilful than Marjolin, although 
younger. Her potato-parings were so thin, that one could 
see the light through them, and she tied up her herbs in 
so graceful a fashion, that they looked like bouquets, and 
made the small piles look like large ones, so skilfully did 
she arrange them. 

People, as they passed, stopped at the clear, childish 
voice, which saluted them : 

“ Buy of me, Madame, buy of me ; only two sous.” 

She had her own customers soon. Her little piles had 
quite a reputation, and Mother Chantemesse, seated 
between the children, laughed silently at seeing them so 
intent on their work. She paid them each their sou every 
night, but they soon grew weary of their undertaking. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 187 

and determined to enlarge their operations and find more 
lucrative employment. 

Marjolin remained a child a longtime, much to Cadine’s 
annoyance, who called him a cabbage-head ; there was 
some truth in what she said, for he had no faculty for 
making money, while she was very clever. When she was 
eight years old, she was employed by one of the women 
who sold lemons and oranges near the market, to run after 
people with them in her hands. She received two sous 
for every dozen she sold, and often made six or eight sous. 
The next year she sold caps, when her profits were larger. 
The difficulty here was, that not being allowed to sell 
them openly, as such commerce is forbidden, she was 
obliged to evade the police. She saw them a square off, 
the caps went under her petticoats, and when they reached 
her she was eating an apple with the most innocent air. 

After this she sold cakes, galettes and cherry tarts, 
biscuits de mais, thick and yellow — but Marjolin eat too 
much of her stock. At eleven she realized a great idea 
that had tormented her for some time. She had saved 
four francs, and she bought a little basket and began to 
sell chickweed. 

This was a great event. She rose early and bought her 
chickweed and her branches of millet, and then she went 
as far as the Luxembourg, Marjolin with her; but she 
would not let him carry the basket. He was only good 
to cry her wares she said, and he shouted, until he was 
hoarse : 

Chickweed ! chickweed for the little birds ! ” 


188 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 


And then she would take up the cry, and in a strange, 
musical phrase would call : 

Chickweed ! chickweed for the little birds !” 

At this time Marjolin wore a huge red vest, which had 
belonged to the defunct Father Chantemesse, who had 
driven a fiacre. Cadine’s dress was a blue and white 
check cut from a tartan once worn by Mother Chante- 
messe. All the canary birds in the Quartier Latin knew 
them, and would answer to their cry by fluttering wings 
and an eager chirp. Cadine sold water-cresses also. 
“Two sous for a basket — only two sous.” 

The central Halles were now being built, and the little 
girl was carried away by the long alley of flowers which 
cross the fruit-market. There she saw two thick hedges 
of roses, and drank in the perfume with exquisite delight. 
She held her curly head under Marjolin’s nose, and he 
vowed she should never use any more pomade. She finally 
managed so cleverly, that she obtained a position at one 
of the flower-stands, and lived from morning until night 
among roses and lilacs, wall-flowers, and lilies of the 
valley. 

Marjolin, to tease her, would catch the hem of her 
dress and smell of it. 

“To be sure,” he would say, “lilies of the valley.” 
Then he would snuff at her shoulders. “ Wall-flowers ! ” 
he added, sententiously. He would hold her hands up 
high — smell of them. “Lilies, my dear, and your lips 
are roses.” 

Cadine laughed, called him a goose, and told him to let 
her be. But in truth she was a living bouquet. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


189 


The girl rose at four to help her mistress at her work. 
Each morning there were huge baskets of flowers brought 
in ; packages of moss, periwinkle and ferns. On fete 
days their labors began at two o’clock, wdien more than 
one hundred thousand francs worth of cut flowers were 
sold in the market. On such days, only Cadine’s pretty, 
curly head was to be seen among her pansies, mignonettes 
and Marguerites; she was lost among the flowers. In a 
very short time she had acquired not only skill, but 
exhibited great originality. Her bouquets did not please 
everybody by any means. They were even disagreeable 
to some persons. Reds predominated, combined with 
yellows and blues, in a barbaric sort of way. On those 
mornings when the girl had teased Marjolin, until he was 
ready to weep, her bouquets were more than ever fiery 
in color. Other days, when she was moved by some 
joy or some sorrow, her bouquets were soft and tender. 
They were roses then, or white carnations; tawny gladioli, 
like patches of flame among feathery verdure; a tapestry 
of Smyrna patiently imitated, flower by flower ; or fans 
gracefully spread, and soft as lace; dreams of loveliness to 
place in the hands of a graceful woman, or a pure young 
girl. All the strange fancies were those of a child in 
whom the woman was just awakening. 

Cadine respected only two things: lilacs, a bunch of 
which — six or eight sprays — costs in winter from fifteen 
to twenty francs ; and camelias, which are dearer still, and 
which came from the florist’s, in boxes of a dozen each, 
on a bed of moss, covered with cotton wool. She took 
12 


190 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


.tliem np as slie would have handled jewels — with the most 
delicate care, hardly venturing to breathe lest she should 
tarnish their exquisite beauty, and with infinite precau- 
tions put a fine wire through their short stems. 

She spoke of them with great deference, telling Marjolin 
that a white camelia, without a brown or rusty stain, was 
a very rare thing. 

One morning, when she was trying to make him admire 
one, he said : 

Oh, yes, it is pretty. But not half as pretty as the skin 
under your chin. It is no whiter, and not half as smooth.’’ 

He touched her with the tips of his fingers, and then 
added ; 

Everything about you to-day smells of orange blos- 
soms.” 

Cadine was not very amiable, nor a very submissive 
little servant, and consequently established herself on her 
own account as soon as she could, which of course was at 
first only on a very small scale. She sold boutonnieres of 
violets for a sou, which were stuck in a flat basket. She 
spent her days in the Halles. This was her great delight, 
and she arranged her violets as she walked, with wonderful 
dexterity. She counted six or eight flowers, according to 
the season, added a leaf or two, and wound around them a 
damp thread, which she bit off with her sharp white teeth. 
Her basket was always full, no matter how many she sold, 
so quick was she in making them. 

No matter how rudely she was jostled in the crowded 
streets, her rapid fingers moved, while her eyes were 
occupied with the shop windows. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


191 


Sometimes she sat down for a while in a doorway, and 
gave to the very gutter, wherein the dirty water ran, 
a look of spring. Her boutonnieres indicated her mood ; 
some were fierce and bristling, others sweet and tender. 
Wherever she went, she left behind her an odor of the 
country, and Marjolin told her she was herself one big 
violet. 

The girl made no further changes; she adhered to the 
flower business. But as the two children grew up, she 
occasionally left her osier basket at home, and went off 
with Marjolin exploring the Halles and its cellars. They 
knew its every corner and dim recess, and were thoroughly 
at hoine with the sleeping giant. 

Cadine and Marjolin had outgrown the old handcart in 
the attic of Mother Chantemesse. The old woman had 
sent the boy to a neighbor’s to sleep, but the children were 
unhappy at the separation, and liked to curl up together 
behind the fruit-stalls in the market, and as they grew 
older they often slept in the cellar, and among the baskets 
of feathers enjoying the sense of companionship in the 
most utter innocence. 

But later, they lived like young and happy animals. 
Cadine, at sixteen, was a thorough Boh^mienne, selfish, 
sensual and greedy. Marjolin, at eighteen, was dull of 
intellect, but good-natured, if a little blas6. 

Cadine laughed impudently in the face of Mother 
Chantemesse when the old woman asked her where she 
had spent the night. 

Wlien the girl was not with Marjolin, he slept anywhere 


192 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


it>)imong the old boxes, but he never left the Halles. It was 
there they spent their lives. But their great delight, 
was in the especial market devoted to butter, eggs and 
cheeses, where every morning piles of empty baskets 
were found. They selected an enormous one and called it 
their house. There they lay unsuspected by any one, and 
si look with laughter, when people stopped near them to 
talk, without suspecting their presence. Cadine, in cherry- 
time, armed herself with any amount of stones, which she 
threw at the noses of all the old women who passed, which 
was all the better fun for them, as the poor old things could 
not divine whence came the hailstorm. 

They amused themselves by following the track of the 
subterranean railway — the deserted avenues with its 
streaks of daylight coming through the gratings, the 
dark corners lighted by gas. The whole place seemed 
to belong to them. Occasionally on moonlight nights, 
they climbed upon the roofs by the narrow staircase at 
each angle, and found a wide field of zinc spread before 
them. But they did not stop here; they went still higher, 
until only the sky was above them. At this height the air 
was very pure. The wind swept away all the bad odors 
from the market, and at daybreak they sat on the edge of 
the roof, by the gutters, with the sparrows. 

Cadine laughed aloud, with a sound like the cooing of a 
dove. Marjolin, when they came down, said they had 
been in the country. 

It was at the tripe-market that they first made the 
acquaintance of Claude Lantier. They went there every 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


193 


day. They liked to watch the carts drive up. They 
looked at the lambs^ feet which were piled up like dirty 
paviug-stones — the huge red tongues and bullocks’ hearts. 
They shivered as they saw the bloody heads, and thought 
of a guillotine; but fascinated, followed them to the cellar, 
and saw them broken one by one by the butchers with a 
mallet, and the brains taken out. 

Toward evening, between four and five, Cadine and 
Marjolin were sure of meeting Claude, who was in an 
ecstasy at the beauty of coloring. 

The Painter became the great friend of the two 
‘^gamins.” He contemplated a colossal picture of the 
two young lovers in the market among the meats, vegeta- 
bles and fish. He dreamed of an artistic manifesto of the 
positivism of art — modern art, experimental and material- 
istic, and hoped thus to satirize the painter of ideas and to 
strike a blow at the old school. 

For more than two years he had made studies for this 
purpose, but had not yet found the key-note. He had 
commenced a dozen canvasses, but was dissatisfied with all, 
and felt a certain spite against his two models on account 
of his unpainted picture. 

Wherever he saw them, however, he joined them, and 
the three roamed the streets together, all in a row, com- 
pelling the people they met, to turn out for them. They 
learned to know each corner by its odors — the wine-shop 
— the pastry-cook’s, and the baker’s. 

When they wandered through the wide new streets, la 
Rue du Pont Neuf and la Rue des Halles, he orated to the 


194 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


gamins on their beauty and magnificence — on the birth of 
a new era which he felt to be near at hand — an era 
of originality. 

But Cadine and Marjolin preferred the provincial quiet 
of la Kue des Bourdon nais, where they could play marbles 
on the curb-stones without danger of being walked on. 
They preferred those portions of old Paris which were 
still left standing — les Rues de la Poterie and de la Lin- 
gerie, with their swelled-front houses, and narrow, dark 
shops. They liked to loiter at the windows and adore the 
sweetmeats, the box&s of prunes and the candies in the 
confectioners’ windows. 

There was one shop where soap was manufactured, 
where Marjolin always stopped to catch the fragrance 
which came from the door as it was opened. Cadine 
insisted on looking at the barrels of anchovies and capers 
at a great warehouse; huge jars of pickled cucumbers and 
olives, with their wooden spoons. She liked the smell of 
pickled salmon, of hams and dried herring, and smacked her 
lips at the sight of the boxes of sardines. 

In la Rue Coquilliere they caught the smell of truffles, 
and there Cadine and Maijolin shut their eyes, and pre- 
tended they were eating the most delicious things. 

Claude laughed at them, called them simpletons, and 
said he should leave them to dine on the smell of truffles. 

Cadine, when she was alone, did not extend her walks 
so far. She had a weakness for certain places — for an 
especial pastry cook who displayed in la Rue Surbigo 
almond cakes, savarns, babas and 6clairs, custards and 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


195 


creams, and looked with longing eyes on the macaroons 
and madeleines. 

The Bakery, with its clean marble counters, was almost 
as attractive, and yielding to temptation she would go in 
and buy a brioche for two sous. 

Another shop opposite the Square des Innocents made 
her mouth water, and she vowed to herself that the day 
would come, when she would eat her fill of the delicacies 
there displayed. 

Cadine also felt a longing for pretty things to wear as 
well as to eat, and as she walked, would select a pale blue 
or green silk, as that which she would like, and in the 
evening lingered before the jewellers in la Rue Mont- 
martre, whose windows blazed with the white light of sil- 
ver and the yellow hue of gold. The watches, bracelets, 
and rings did not tempt her as much, as the silver thimbles 
which covered a globe. She selected, however, some ear- 
rings of imitation coral, which she regarded as altogether 
the most beautiful things there. 

One morning Claude found her transfixed before the 
w'indow of a coiffeur in la Rue Saint-Honor4. She was 
looking, with evident longing, at the display of hair in all 
hues, from the palest blonde to the densest black, in the 
midst of which a woman’s bust was slowly revolving. 
The woman wore a scarf of cherry satin, fastened by a 
brass breastpin, and the hair was dressed as a bride’s — very 
high, with orange blossoms. The mouth wore a simple 
smile, and the eyelashes were stiff and preposterously long, 
but Cadine was completely fascinated by this beautiful 
creature. 


196 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


Claude was furious. He shook Cadine, and asked her 
what she found to admire in that bust, ^Svhich looked as 
if it had come from the Morgue ! 

Cadine and Marjolin had made the acquaintance of 
L4on, the apprentice of the Quenu-Gradelles. They saw 
him as he carried a tray to some customer, select a quiet 
corner, and there lift the covers and try each dish in suc- 
cession. They at once felt him to be one of themselves, 
and Cadine determined to know him, and enjoy these 
delicacies with him on some future occasion. She invited 
him to a breakfast which she gave in a corner of the 
market sheltered from public observation, by a rampart of 
empty baskets. The table was aflat basket turned bottom 
upwards. They had pears, nuts, cheese and shrimps, fried 
potatoes and radishes. The cheese came from a fruiterer’s 
in la Rue de la Cossonnerie, and was a present. She had 
purchased two cents’ worth of fried potatoes on credit; 
the rest of the feast she had stolen. 

It was a regal repast, and Leon, not wishing to be out- 
done, returned the civility by a supper, and gave them 
cold blood-pudding, sausages, pickles and ham. The 
charcuterie of the Quenu-Gradelles had provided every- 
thing. From this time suppers and breakfasts were con- 
stantly interchanged. 

Never were young people happier. Marjolin constantly 
provided sweet surprises for Cadine in the way of delica- 
cies, which he stole for her delectation. He had become 
very skilful in this respect, and helped himself like magic, 
as he walked between the stalls. Notwithstanding his 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


197 


success, however, ih^friteur was beginning to make loud 
complaints. This Jriteur whom Cadine patronized had his 
little stall supported against the side of a tottering wall, 
held up by moss-covered beams, and Cadine owed him 
thirty sous, and was quite crushed by the debt. How 
should she ever pay it? She did not count on Marjolin. 
She never did ! 

She felt herself compelled to return Lion’s politeness, 
and was quite ashamed that she could never offer him any 
meat. He had served to them an entire ham at a time. 
He had all the things which the shop could furnish, but 
no bread, and nothing to drink. Marjolin saw Leon kiss 
the girl one night, but he only laughed. He was not 
jealous of her. 

Claude never assisted at these festivities. He had 
caught Cadine one day stealing a bunch of beets, and had 
pulled her ears well. She should not do this,^^ he said, 
and yet he felt a certain sense of amusement at seeing 
these happy animals picking up the crumbs of this abun- 
dance. Marjolin was in Gavard’s employment, and had 
little to do, save to hear his master’s interminable tales. 
While Cadine continued to sell her violets, Marjolin left 
her very often, to look through the windows at Madame 
Quenu. He experienced in looking at her a sensation as 
if he had eaten something that he liked, and he left the 
window eager to see her again. He dreamed of her every 
night, and contrived 'to see her nearly every day, as she 
had now taken upon herself the task of going to market, 
and passed Gavard’s shop on her way. 


198 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


The truth was, her instinct taught her that she was 
more likely to induce him to speak openly to her in his 
own shop than in hers, where he was on his guard. But 
in his he was quite willing to orate. 

She determined to discover from him what took place 
at Monsieur Lebigre’s, for in Mademoiselle Saget she did 
not place unbounded confidence. She was appalled at 
what Gavard told her, and two days after the explanation 
she had had with Quenu, she came in from market very 
pale. 

She made a sign to her husband to follow her into the 
dining-room. She closed the doors and then turned to- 
ward him : 

Your brother then, is determined to send us all to the 
scaffold, is he? Why do you have any concealments 
from me?^^ 

Quenu swore that he did not know what she meant, and 
then promised her never to set foot again inside the Cabaret. 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

You will do wisely,’^ she answered, unless you wish 
to leave your skin there. Florent will get himself into 
trouble. I see it ! I feel it ! ” 

Then, after a moment’s silence, she added, more calmly : 

What a foolish fellow he is ! He might live here in 
clover if he chose, but no! he must dabble in politics. He 
will ruin himself, and us too. Quenu, this must end. I 
told you so, you remember.” 

Quenu caught his breath. He knew what was coming. 

He shall eat here no more,” she said. It is enough 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


199 


for him to sleep here. He makes money ; let him buy his 
own food.” 

Quenu tried to protest, but she closed his lips by 
exclaiming : 

^^Then choose between him and us. I swear to you 
that I will take my daughter and go away, if he remains. 
I shall speak the plain truth to you now. He is, in my 
opinion, a bad man, who has brought only trouble into our 
home. But I will soon settle it. You must choose 
between him and me — ” 

Quenu was breathless, and she left him and returned to 
the shop, where she weighed out a half-pound of pate de 
foie, with her affable smile. 

Gavard, in a hot political discussion, to which she had 
adroitly led up, had said that she would soon see strange 
things, and made several veiled allusions, wdiich dis- 
turbed her greatly. Her imagination at once depicted 
armed police, picking up Quenu, Pauline and herself, by 
the napes of their necks, and incarcerating them in a 
prison. 

She was icy in her demeanor that night toward Florent. 
She did not help him to any dish on the table, and said 
several times : 

It is strange how much bread we eat lately.” 

Florent at last understood that he was treated like a 
poor relation, of whom one wishes to get rid. He had 
worn Quenffs old clothes for the last two months, and as 
Quenu was fat, and he thin, the effect of these garments 
was most remarkable. 


200 


THE MAKKETS OF PARIS. 


Lisa also handed him over her husband’s old linen ; the 
ragged towels and sheets were sent to his room, and he no 
longer was treated in other ways with the consideration 
which had been shown him. Little Pauline made remarks 
which wounded him, in regard to the shabbiness of his 
garments. 

These remarks about the bread were more than he could 
endure. Quenu did not look up, and pretended not to 
notice what was going on. 

Florent, however, did not know how to get away. For 
a week he tried to find words in which to say, that he 
thought he should prefer to take his meals elsewhere. His 
gentle nature cherished the illusion that he should wound 
his brother and his sister-in-law by this proposition. He 
was unwilling to admit, even to himself, the hostility 
which Lisa felt toward him, nor did he once think, so great 
was his unselfishness, of his money, which his sister-in-law 
held in her hand. 

He thought with what remained to him of his salary, 
and with the proceeds of the lessons he gave one pupil, 
that he could spend eighteen sous for his breakfast, and 
twenty -six for his dinner. At last, one morning he said 
that, as he found it impossible to be punctual at his meals, 
that he would take them when and where he could. 

He colored as he said this. La belle Lisa was cold and 
stately, which troubled him greatly. She had determined 
not to take the initiative, but to wait until he spoke 
himself. And now she should get rid of him without any 
disagreeable scene. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


201 


But Quenii exclaimed, in some agitation : 

Eat just where you please, my dear fellow ! You will 
remember, however, that it is your own fault if you go. 
You will dine with us sometimes on Sunday, however?” 

Florent hastily left the room, for his heart was very 
full, and Lisa, when alone with Quenu, did not venture to 
reproach him for the weakness of which he had been 
guilty in this invitation for Sundays. She was victorious, 
and she drew a long sigh of satisfaction, and wanted to 
burn some sugar to get rid of the fishy smell, which she 
said haunted her. 

At the end of a week she was not as well satisfied. She 
saw Florent very rarely, and she took it into her head that 
he was manufacturing some infernal machine up in the 
attic, or arranging some system of signals from his window. 
Gavard was apparently despondent. He left his shop in 
Marjolin’s care, for a day at a time, and fidgeted to and fro. 

La belle Lisa determined on a master-blow. She knew 
that Florent had asked for a few days’ holiday, and pro- 
posed to pass them with Claude Lantier at Nanterre, with 
Madame Fran9ois. 

Lisa went to invite Gavard to dinner, but she could 
not find him. Marjolin was alone in the shop. 

High above his head hung fat geese, and dead rabbits, 
with frightened eyes ; pigeons and ducks, as yet unplucked, 
were on the counter ; three superb turkeys, specked with 
blue, like a chin that has been freshly shaved, lay on their 
backs, while in plates were the livers, hearts, and gizzards, 
claws, necks and pinions. 


202 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


Marjolin, among all this food, with his smooth, glossy- 
skin, looked as if he too were good to eat. When he saw 
la belle Lisa, he started from his lounging position. He 
was always more or less timid in her presence, and 
stammered, in reply to her question, that he did not know 
where Monsieur Gavard was. He had been there an hour 
before, but had gone away, without saying when he would 
return. She stooped to caress a rabbit in a box, saying as 
she did so ; 

** Do you not think you could find him ? ” 

“He may be in the poultry-rooms in the cellar,” 
answered Marjolin. 

“ I will wait for him, then,” said Lisa ; “ or better still, 
why can’t I go down there ? I have wanted to go for five 
years, and you will show me the way, will you not?” 

The youth stammered forth a confused expression of 
willingness to do anything she desired. 

But the heavy air of the cellar suffocated belle 
charcutih'eJ^ She stood on the steps, and looked up at the 
arched ceiling and at the heavy columns. She hesitated 
on account of the penetrating odor — the exhalation from 
living creatures, which scorched her throat with their 
alkalies. 

“ The smell is horrible,” she said. “ It would not be 
healthy to live here.” 

“I am perfectly well, Madame,” said Marjolin, much 
astonished. “ The smell is not so bad, when one is accus- 
tomed to it.” 

She followed him, saying that the smell disgusted her 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 203 

with fowls, and she should not want to eat any for two 
months. 

The poultry-houses stood in straight lines, with occa- 
sional gas-lights between, and the aspect was that of a 
village at midnight, when all its inhabitants are asleep. 
At each corner was a long blue board, on which were 
inscribed the names of the tenants. 

Monsieur Gavard is way at the back,” said the young 
man. 

They turned into a dark corner, but no Gavard was to 
be seen. 

Never mind, Madame. I will show you the fowls 
myself, for I have a key.” 

La belle Lisa followed, and stumbled against him. 

“ If you think,” she said, “ that I can see anything in 
this darkness, you are very much mistaken.” 

He did not reply instantly, but at last stammered that 
there was always a candle inside, that he could light. But 
he fumbled a long time over the lock. She tried to assist 
him, and felt his breath hot on her neck. When he lighted 
the candle, she saw that his hands trembled. 

Simpleton ! ” she cried ; the idea of getting into such 
a state of excitement because a door can’t be opened. I 
should think you were a nervous girl.” 

Gavard had hired two compartments, and made them 
into one poultry-room by taking away the partitions. 
Turkeys, geese and ducks were picking in the dung heaps; 
while on shelves, built in three rows, one above another, 
were boxes with gratings over them, containing chickens 
and rabbits. 


204 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 


The place was incredibly dirty, and hung wdth gray 
spiders’ webs. But Lisa was too civil to show her dis- 
gust. She looked into the boxes, and compassionated the 
poor chickens, who were shut out from the light of day, 
and could not even stand and move about. The young 
man showed her a duck whose leg was broken, and said 
they should kill him that evening for fear he would die 
during the night. 

But,” she said, when do they eat ? ” 

He explained that they did not eat without light, and 
that he, or Gavard, was obliged to light a candle, and wait 
until the creatures had got through their meals. 

I like to watch them,” he continued. It is droll to 
see them fight. Sometimes I shade the light with my 
hand, and they stand perfectly still, and then put their 
heads under their wings, as if the sun had set. It is 
against the regulations to go away and leave a light here. 
One of the poultry-women nearly set the place on fire the 
other day.” 

Your poultry require a good deal of waiting on,” said 
Lisa, if they must have a candle lighted for each meal.” 

As she spoke she passed out of the room, raising her 
skirts from out of the filth. He blew out the candle, and 
locked the door. She hurried on, not liking to be left 
with this youth in the darkness. 

When he joined her, she said : 

‘‘I am glad to have seen this. There are certainly 
many odd things under the Halles. I am very much 
obliged, but I must hurry home now. If Monsieur 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 205 

Gavard comes in, pray tell him that I must speak to him 
at once/' 

^‘He is probably at the ^Abatage,^^^ answered Marjolin. 

Let us go and see." 

She did not reply. The close air of the place made her 
very uncomfortable, and it annoyed her to have Marjolin 
so close to her. He breathed hard too, as if the air 
affected him also. She stepped back a little, and motioned 
to him to precede her. She fancied that her companion^ 
guided her in a very roundabout way. When they 
came out in front of the underground railway, he told her 
that he wanted to show it to her. They stood for a few 
moments, looking through the beams of the protecting 
wall. 

On their way back they found Mother Palette in front of 
her poultry-house, taking the cords off of a large basket, 
from which a furious noise of wings and claws was heard. 
W^hen she loosened the last knot, the geese within, raised 
the cover with their powerful heads, and escaped, running 
and flying with loud hisses, which resounded through the 
arched cellar. Lisa could not help laughing, while the 
poultry- woman swore like a pirate, and succeeded in 
catching two, while Marjolin started in pursuit of a 
third. He was heard running at full-speed, laughing 
and much amused by this unlooked-for frolic. Then 
there w^as a sound of a struggle, and he soon returned with 
the bird. 

Mother Palette, an old, yellow woman, took it and held 
it for a moment in the position of the antique Leda. 

13 


206 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


I don^t know, I am sure, what I should have done, 
Marjolin, if you had not been here. The other day I 
fought with one, but I had my knife, and cut its throat 
at last.’' 

Marjolin was all out of breath, and Lisa caught a 
strange light in his eyes, as together they reached the 
Abatage, Generally he dropped his eyes when she spoke 
to him. 

For the first , time she realized his superb beauty, his 
square shoulders, and his bright complexion and blonde 
hair. She looked at him with the frank admiration 
which women often fearlessly evince toward very young 
men. 

He became once more timid and embarrassed. 

You see that Monsieur Gavard is not here,” she said, 
and I am wasting my time.” 

He explained to her the Abatage, showed her the 
huge blocks of stone, lighted by gas. One woman was 
plucking chickens, which led him to say, that they often 
plucked them alive, because it was so much easier. He told 
her to take up a handful of the feathers, which were piled 
up there, and said they were sold at nine sous the pound. 
She put her hand into the baskets of down. He called 
her attention to the water-faucets at each pillar, and told 
her that all spots of blood were washed up every two 
hours by men whose especial duty it was. He added 
that in great rain-storms, the water often invaded these 
cellars, once to the height of three centimetres, on which 
occasion he was obliged to take all his poultry to the upper 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 


207 


end. He laughed as he described the fright of the 
creatures. 

He finished by showing her the ventilators, “which 
carried ofi* all bad ddors.’^ 

This seemed to her a ridiculous thing to say, so 
thoroughly was the air impregnated by the amraoniated 
smell of the guano. Marjolin seemed in a state of sup- 
pressed excitement, and was no longer timid. 

“You are a good boy,” said La belle Lisa, “to have 
shown me all this. When you come to my shop I will 
give you something.” 

Forgetting his age, and remembering only, that she had 
known him since his babyhood, she took him by the chin 
as she spoke. If her hand lingered, it was unconsciously, 
though she was by no means as calm as usual herself. 
He, at this caress, glanced quickly around, assured himself 
that no one was near, and caught La belle Lisa by the 
waist, and threw her into a huge crate of feathers. She, 
pale and trembling at this brutal attack, sprang up and 
raised her large, round arms, and struck a blow, just such 
as she had seen struck at the abattoirs, fair between the 
eyes. He fell, and his head struck one of the stones. At 
this moment a cock crowed loudly. 

La belle Lisa was chilled through and through. Her lips 
were white. Over her head she heard the dull roar of the ^ 
Halles. Through the gratings came the street sounds, 
and she thought that only the strength of her own arms 
had saved her. 

She shook off the feathers that had adhered to her 


208 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


skirts. Fearing to be seen, and without a glance at Mar- 
jolin, she hurried to the stair-case. Daylight and the 
fresh air were a great relief. 

She entered her shop, perfectly calm, and only a little 
paler than usual. 

Where have you been so long ? said Quenu. 

“Looking for Gavard,” she answered, quietly. “I 
could not find him, and we must eat our leg of mutton 
without him.” 

She filled up several pots with lard, prepared some chops 
for her friend, Madame Taboureau, whose little servant 
was waiting. As she broke the bones with her mallet, she 
thought of Marjolin lying in the cellar, but felt no pang 
of self-reproach. She had only done her duty. She 
looked at Quenu; he certainly was very plain, and his 
skin was very rough, and his chin far from velvety, while 
the skin and the chin of the other were like down. She 
said to herself with a sigh, that it was a pity for children to 
grow up so fast. 

Quenu was struck by her beauty. 

“ You ought to go out oftener,” he said. “ If you wish, 
we will go to the tlieatre sometimes — to the Gaiety, where 
Madame Taboureau saw that play she liked so much.” 

Lisa smiled and said she would see, and then went out 
again. Quenu thought she was very good to run after 
Gavard in that way, but she had only gone up-stairs to 
Florent’s room, the key of which hung on a nail in the 
kitchen. 

She hoped, as she could not get hold of Gavard, to 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


209 


make some discoveries here. She went about the room, 
examined the bed and looked at the mantel-shelf. The 
window was open, and the plants were drinking in the soft 
air. She could find not the smallest trace of Florent^s 
presence. She was astonished at this. She touched Au- 
gustine’s dress, still hanging in the corner, and then took 
a seat at the table, reading a half-finished page, in which 
the word Ke volution occurred several times. She was 
frightened at this, and opened the drawer, which she saw 
was full of papers. She sat looking at them, when the 
bird uttered a long, shrill cry. She started, and realized 
the ignominy of the act she was about to commit. She 
closed the drawer. 

She went to the window, and standing there, said to her- 
self that she would take counsel of the Abbe Roustan, a 
man of good sound sense. As she mechanically looked 
down on the Square below, she beheld Cadine weeping in 
the centre of a crowd, while Florent and Claude were 
talking earnestly together a little apart. She hurried 
down-stairs, surprised at their speedy return. Hardly 
was she established behind her counter, than Mademoiselle 
Saget entered, saying: 

Come and see poor Marjolin, Madame. He was found 
in the cellar unconscious, and a great gash cut in his 
head.” 

Lisa hurried across the street. The youth lay with his 
eyes closed, and his fair hair stained with blood. Some 
one among the crowd said it was nothing, that it was his 
own fault, that he was always foolhardy, and jumping over 


210 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


the tables at the Ahaiage. This was one of his favorite 
amusements, and he had undoubtedly fallen in that way. 

Mademoiselle Saget pointed to the weeping Cadine. 

‘^Probably that little scamp pushed him. They are 
always in mischief.” 

Marjolin, revived by the fresh air, opened his eyes. 
He caught sight of Lisa’s face bending over him, and 
smiled faintly. He did not seem to remember anything 
that had taken place. Lisa said calmly that he ought to 
be taken at once to the Hospital. She would go and see 
him, and carry him some delicacies. 

He was put on a litter, and Cadine followed it, still 
with her wicker tray suspended around her neck, and her 
bunches of violets stuck into the moss, which she watered 
with her hot tears. 

As Lisa entered her shop, she heard Claude say to Flo- 
rent, as they were separating : 

‘‘That boy has spoiled my day; but we did have a 
good time ! ” 

Claude and Florent had indeed brought back with them 
something of the fresh air of the country. That morning 
before daybreak they went to find Madame Fran9ois, who 
liad just sold her last vegetable. They then, the three 
together, went to the Compas d’or, in the Rue Montorgueil, 
for the wagon. This was almost a foretaste of the country. 

Behind the Restaurant Philippe, whose gorgeous 
gilding illuminated the entire lower floor, was a regular 
farm-yard, smelling of fresh straw and warm dung; young 
chickens and hens picked the soft earth, stalls and sheds 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


211 


of all sorts and sizes were built against the neighboring 
houses. Balthasar, all harnessed, was eating his oats 
comfortably under shelter. 

He was, nevertheless, quite ready to return to Nanterre, 
but he did not go back unloaded. The market-woman 
had made a bargain with the company, who had contracted 
to keep the Halles clean j she carried home with her three 
times in the week, a load of refuse taken up with a pitch- 
fork from the heap swept together in the centre of the 
Square, which was a valuable addition to her manure- 
heap. 

Claude and Florent lay on the coarse sheet she spread 
over these green leaves. Madame Fran9ois took the reins, 
and Balthasar started forth, his head a little low on 
account of the unusual burthen he carried. 

This visit had been long talked of. The market- 
woman was as gay as a lark; she liked the two men, and 
promised them such a breakfast as they had never eaten in 
that “miserable place — Paris,” and they enjoyed the 
prospect of the long idle day before them. 

“Are you comfortable?” asked Madame Fran9ois, as 
she turned into la Rue Pont Neuf. 

“Yes; as cosy as two peas in a pod,” answered Claude, 
gayly. He lay on his back, watching the stars paling in 
the sky, and the growing light in the east. They listened 
to the good woman talking to Balthasar. 

“ Take your ease, old fellow,” she said, softly. “ Wc 
are in no such great hurry ! ” 

They reached the Champs Elysees, and the painter saw 


212 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


trees on either side, and beyond the green mass of the 
gardens of the Tuileries. As they passed the Kue du 
Roule, he looked at the side door of Saint-Eustache in the 
distance. 

Do you know,” he said, suddenly, that iron is 
destined to kill stone? It is not by accident that we see 
Saint-Eustache through one of the long avenues of Les 
Halles. It is a fatality. It is Modern Art — Realism — 
Nature — whatever you may choose to call it, which has 
grown up in the face of Ancient Art. You do not agree 
with me?” 

As Elorent did not speak, he continued : 

This church is not a pure architecture. The Moyen- 
Age is dying in it, and the Renaissance is not yet on its feet. 
But have you noticed the Churches which are built in 
these times? They are like Observatories, Libraries, 
Hospitals — like anything, in fact, but Churches; and it 
would be difficult to convince me that le bon Dieu looks 
^ upon them as suitable. The masons who loved Him are 
dead, and it would be wiser not to erect any more of these 
ugly constructions. Since the beginning of this century 
but one original monument has been built — the natural 
outgrowth of the epoch — and this is the Halles. These 
Markets, I tell you, are a timid revelation of the spirit of 
the twentieth century, and this is why Saint-Eustache is 
nearly obscured. There it stands empty, while the Halles 
have grown up around it, crowded with life.” 

Look at Balthasar,” said Madame Fran9ois, laughing. 
^^The woman who brought you safely into the world 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 213 

earned her money ; for you make even animals listen to 
you when you speak ! 

The carriage went slowly on. At this early hour the 
avenue was deserted. There were no rows of chairs on 
the sidewalk, and the turf lay dark under the trees. At 
the Rond-Point, a lady and gentleman on horseback 
passed, and Florent closed his eyes the better to enjoy the 
sweetness of the fresh breeze. He was happy in getting 
away from the Plalles, happy to breathe an air uncontami- 
nated by the smell of food. 

^^They say,’^ continued Claude, 'Hhat industry kills 
poetry, and the fools weep over flowers, as if any one pro- 
posed to hurt the flowers. These people fret me to death. 
I want to answer their moans by a work which they must 
needs accept as a defiance. It would amuse me to startle 
these good people a little. Shall I tell you the thing 
which pleases me best of all I have ever done in my life? 
It is quite a story. 

Last year, on Christmas eve, I was at my Aunt Lisa’s, 
and that goose of a fellow, Auguste, was dressing the shop 
windows, and the counters. I looked on until I could 
bear it no longer, and told him I would do it myself. 
You see, I had all the strong colors I required. The red 
of the tongues; the yellow of the small hams; blue in the 
paper ; pink in the delicate slices, which were cut ; green 
in the carrot and lettuce leaves, and such a black as I 
could never find on my palette, in the blood puddings. 
The sausages, chitterlings and breaded pigs’ feet gave me 
delicious tones of gray. I made a superb thing of it. 


214 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


I took my dishes, plates, jars and bottles, and massed 
them together. I arrayed the tongues so that they 
looked like scarlet flames, and a large truffled turkey lay 
in the centre. I tell you it was simply superb, and the 
crowd that gathered before the window thought the same. 
But Aunt Lisa, when she appeared, was quite shocked, 
and bade Auguste arrange the window as usual. And of 
course he did not grasp the idea of the reds being brought 
out by the grays, and of course it was hopeless to try and 
make him see it. Never mind ; it was the best thing I 
ever did ! ” 

Claude sank into silence, smiling at his thoughts. The 
wagon had reached the Arc de Triomphe. The wind 
blew strongly down the various open avenues around the 
immense Square. Florent leaned out and drank in the 
breath of the green grass, which blew toward him from 
the fortifications. At the top of la Rue de Longchamps, 
Madame Franyois showed him the place where she had 
picked him up. 

He fell into a deep reverie, and as he looked at the 
market-woman, he thought her look of health and 
benignant sweetness of expression made her more beautiful 
than Lisa. 

When they reached JSTanterre, the carriage turned to the 
left and entered a narrow lane, running along the walls, 
and stopped in an enclosure from which there was no 
outlet. ‘^It was the end of the world,” the market- 
woman said. There they were to leave their load of 
cabbage-leaves and green stuff. Claude and Florent bade 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


215 


the boy, who was planting out lettuce, to go on with his 
work, while they, armed with pitchforks, threw out the 
heap. This amused them, and Claude had a good deal to 
say about the refuse from the market being sent bad: 
again, in the form of new generations of vegetables and 
fruits. Paris consumed everything — returned everything 
to the earth, which in due time repaired all damages. 

There is a cabbage-stump which I recognize,’^ said 
Claude, as he took up the last on his pitch-fork. “This 
is the tenth time, at the very least, that it has grown up 
in that corner by the apricot-tree.” 

Florent laughed, but his smiles faded as he walked on. 
Claude was making a sketch, and Madame Franyois was 
preparing breakfast. 

This garden was a long narrow strip, from the extremity 
of which he could see the low casemates of Mont-Valerien, 
which were divided by row after row of evergreen hedges, 
from the little garden of Madame Frangois. 

A great peace brooded over the landscape. The May 
sunshine had brought out insect life, and a gentle humming 
of bees fell upon the stillness. The garden was laid off in 
squares, sorrel and spinach, radishes, carrots and beets. 
Cabbages and potatoes stood in regular lines, while peas 
and beans were sending out their slender tendrils. Not a 
weed was to be seen. The ground looked as if it were 
swept every morning. F Jiders of Thyme put a gray 
fringe to the two sides of the wide path. 

Florent enjoyed this breath of Thyme, brought out by 
the hot sun. He loved the country, and all growing 


216 


THE MAEKETS OF PARIS. 


things. For a year he had seen none, except those torn 
from the ground. He liked to see the vegetables here, 
whole and hearty. The cabbages were luxuriant; the 
carrots were gay, and the salads looked contented and 
crisp. 

The markets which he had left behind him he looked 
back upon as a vast cemetery, where only dead things lay. 
The noise and the smell of the fish-market seemed to him 

k 

a thing of the past. Yes, Claude was right. The earth 
was life — the cradle and the health of the world. 

‘‘Your omelette is ready!’’ cried the market-woman, 
from the door. 

When the three sat round the table, with the sunshine 
streaming in at the open door, they were all so gay that 
Madame Fran9ois looked at Florent in astonishment. 

“I declare I ’’she said. “You are ten years younger. 
Your eyes have a laugh in them that I never saw there 
before. You ought not to live in a city; come and live 
here.” 

But Claude interfered. He said that Paris was superb. 
He even defended the gutters, although he admitted that 
he adored the country. 

In the afternoon, Florent and Madame Fran9ois were 
alone in a corner of the garden, where a few fruit-trees 
were planted. She was giving him some maternal advice. 
She asked him what he meant to do with himself, and her 
questions evidently arose from friendly interest, with no 
admixture of curiosity. He was deeply touched, for no 
woman had ever before shown so much interest in him. 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 


217 


She reminded him of a healthy out-of-door plant, while 
Lisa, Claire and La Normande were doubtful, and 
arranged for sale, so to speak. 

About five o’clock the two men started for Paris. They 
were going to walk, and Madame Fran9ois went to the 
end of the lane with them. She there took Florent’s 
hand. 

Come here,” she said, if you are ever in sorrow.” 
For a half hour Florent walked on in silence, feeling 
that he left health, safety and happiness behind him. The 
road was white with dust, clouds of which arose each time 
they brought their feet down. The sun was low, and 
their shadows stretched far upon the opposite sidewalk. 

Claude, with swinging arms, took long, regular strides, 
and looked at their shadows. Then arousing himself, as 
if from a dream, he said : 

Do you know the Battle of the Fat and the Lean ? ” 
Florent said No,” in some surprise, whereupon Claude 
went off into enthusiastic praise of this series of engra- 
vings. He described certain ones. The Fat men, enor- 
mously stout, preparing for their evening gourmand izing, 
while the Thin men, bowed by fasting, looked in from the 
street with covetous eyes, and then again the Fat ones, at 
table, with cheeks stuffed full, dismissing a Lean one, who 
had been audacious enough to enter, and who looked like 
a needle among bullets. He saw in this the drama of 
human life, and ended by classifying men into the Fat and 
the Lean — natural enemies — where the one devoured the 
other. 


218 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


Yon may be sure/’ he said, that Cain was fat, and 
Abel thin. Ever since the first murder, there has always 
been a constant battle of the strong against the weak, each 
swallowing his neighbor, and being swallowed in turn. 
So look out, my boy; distrust Fat people as a rule.” 

He relapsed into silence, and watched their shadows. 

We are the Thin ones, you see. Tell me, as flat as we 
are, with no bellies to speak of, ought we to claim much 
sunshine?” 

Florent smiled, but Claude was in earnest. 

You may laugh,” he continued, but it is no laughing 
matter. If I were fat, I should paint quietly, have a fine 
studio, and sell my pictures for their weight in gold. 
Instead of that, I am thin, and when I die, I shall 
probably be put between two leaves of a book, instead of 
having a coffin bought in which to bury me decently, as 
would be the case, were I double my weight. But you 
are worse than I ! You are really the King of Lean Men. 
Do you remember the day you quarrelled with the fish- 
women ? It was a magnificent sight, their heaving breasts 
and broad shoulders, in contrast to your meagre form. 
They acted as I tell you. Their instinct was to drive the 
thin man from among them, for the Fat dislike and distrust 
the Thin. And were I you, I should act on these sugges- 
tions. The Quenus are fat ; so are the Mehudens. 
In fact, you are surrounded by fat people. I should get 
out of it, if I were you ! ” 

^^And Gavard, Mademoiselle Saget, and your friend 
Marjolin, what of them?” asked Florent, still smiling. 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 


219 


^^Oli ! I will classify all our acquaintances, if you say 
so. I have had every one of their heads iu my portfolio 
for a long time, with the indication of the order to which 
they belong. It is a chapter of Natural History. Gavard 
is a Fat man, but wishes to be included among the Thin. 
That is quite a common variety. Mademoiselle Saget and 
Madame Lecoeur are Thin, and much to be feared, as they 
are ready to commit any enormity in order to be enrolled 
among the Fat, while Marjolin, Cadine, and La Sarriette 
are among the Fat, but they are, as yet, so young that their 
worst qualities are not developed. It is worthy of remark 
that the young belonging to the Fat class are altogether 
charming. Your political acquaintances, of course, are 
among the Thin.’^ 

The Painter rambled on in this way all the way from 
the Pont de Neuilly to the Arc de Triomphe. 

But where do you place Madame Fran9ois ? ” said 
Florent, finally. 

Claude was considerably embarrassed by this question. 
Tie hesitated. 

‘^Madame Fran§ois — Madame Fran5ois — No; I do not 
know just where to place her. She is a good w’oman, and 
that is enough.” They both laughed. At this moment 
they stood before the Arc de Triomphe. The sun was so 
low in the horizon, that their colossal shadows fell upon 
the monument, higher, even, than the enormous statues, 
like two dark stains. 

See here ! ” cried Claude, as he took his friend^s arm. 

If we go on like this, when the sun has set our two 
heads will touch the sky !” 


220 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS, 


But Florent laughed no more. Paris had reabsorbed 
him. That Paris which, ever since his sojourn at 
Cayenne, he had regarded with terror and distrust. When 
he reached the Halles, the smells were suffocating, and 
he bowed his head, ready to take up again the burthen 
of his nightmare, haunted by a longing for the country, 
and the breath of Thyme: 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS, 


221 


CHAPTER V. 


DUTY BEFORE ALL, 


HE next day, about four o’clock, Lisa went to church. 



-L She had made, in honor of this intention, a very 
careful toilette — a black silk and a French cashmere 
shawl. La belle Normande watched her until the door 
of Saint-Eustache closed upon her. 

Lisa was not religious, and made no pretensions to being 
so ; said that she wished to do her duty to her neighbors 
and to herself. But she did not allow any one to speak 
lightly of religion in her presence, and always silenced 
Gavard when he wished to narrate some vile stories of 
Priests and Nuns. She was politic, and wished to 
respect every one’s scruples. Besides, so far as she knew. 
Priests were worthy of all respect. She knev/ personally 
the Abb6 Roustan, at Saint-Eustache, and had the greatest 
regard for him. 

She insisted that most people needed the daily guidapce 
of religion. She looked upon it as she did on the police, 
as necessary to maintain order, and without which no 
government could possibly stand, 

When Gavard declared that some day Cur6s would be 
nowhere, she would shrug her shoulders impatiently. 

When Lisa, therefore, went to church, her demeanor 
was very quiet. She had purchased a beautiful prayer- 


14 


222 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


book, which she opened only at the marriage and burial 
services. She stood and she knelt at the right moments 
with all due solemnity. In her opinion, it was only right 
that respectable settled people should have a certain regard 
for the outward observances of religion. On the day of 
which we write, the fair charcuti^re, on entering Saint- 
Eustache, let the inner door, covered with green cloth, 
slip softly from her hand. She dipped her fingers in the 
Benitier, and crossed herself correctly. Then, with a soft 
footfall, she went on to the chapelle of Saint- Agnes, where 
two women, kneeling with their faces in their hands, waited 
for the third, whose blue dress was seen surging over the 
threshold of the Confessional. 

Lisa seemed to be annoyed, and she said to a beadle, 
who was passing : 

“ Does the Abb6 Roustan confess to-day ? ” 

He replied that Monsieur I’Abbe would not be long now, 
and if she chose to take a chair, her turn would soon come. 
She thanked him, but did not say that she had not come 
for confession. She determined to wait, and walked about 
the church softly, went down to the door, and looked up 
the centre aisle to the altar. The church was nearly 
empty, but from the Confessional came a low whispering. 
She went toward it, and beheld the blue robe still at the 
feet of the Abbe Roustan. 

“ Mercy ! ” she said to herself. I could tell all my 
sins in ten seconds.” 

Back of the great altar, in the shadow of the double 
fows of pillars, the Chapel of the Virgin is always dark 


. THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


223 


and silent. Women are always there, kneeling in 
prayer. 

Lisa stood looking about. She was not nervous, but 
she vaguely wondered why they did not light the lustres. 
It would be much gayer than those triangular candlesticks 
which dropped their wax constantly. An old woman was 
at that moment taking up the large drops with a broad- 
bladed knife. 

And in this profound silence she heard the roar of the 
fiacres, rolling through the street behind the red and 
purple saints on the windows. 

As she was about to leave the chapel she saw Claire, 
the youngest Mehuden, enter. She lighted a candle, 
and then knelt down behind a pillar, so pale and 
dishevelled that she looked as if she were dead. Be- 
lieving that no one saw her, she abandoned herself to 
an agony of prayer and tears. Lisa was utterly amazed. 
Never had she supposed that one of the Mehudens was 
religious. Claire, in fact, usually spoke of religion and 
of priests in a fashion that was enough to make one’s 
hair rise on one’s head. 

What on earth has got into her?” said Lisa, as she 
went again toward the other end of the church. ‘^Can 
the creature have poisoned any one of her men?” 

At last the Abbe emerged from his Confessional. He 
was a handsome man of forty, with a good, kindly face. 
When he saw Madame Qiienu, he shook hands with her 
and called her ^^dear Madame,” led her into the vestry 
where he took off his surplice, and then the two came 


224 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 


out again, he bareheaded in his soutane, and they walked^ 
np and down one of the aisles talking in low voices. The 
sun was low, and shone on the long windows, but the 
church was gradually growing very dark. 

Lisa explained all her troubles to the Abb6. There 
was never any question of religion between them. She 
never went to confession, but she had formed the habit of 
consulting him on all critical questions. He was always 
patient with her. He had advised her in regard to her 
investments, untied the knot of many difficult matters, 
recommended trades-people, and, in short, showed him- 
self to be a most useful friend, having an answer ready 
to all questions, no matter how complicated they might 
be, without seeking any personal benefit or any glory for 
religion. A word of thanks and a smile was enough ; he 
always seemed glad to oblige this handsome woman, of 
whom his housekeeper always spoke with so much respect. 

On this occasion the matter under discussion was a most 
delicate one, for he was by no means sure to what extent 
she was authorized in interfering with her brother-in-law’s 
movements. She asked this question, and also several 
others, among them where she could go with her child 
in case of absolute danger. She wished to know if she 
could watch Florent, and examine his papers in order to 
guard her husband, daughter and herself from the con- 
sequences of his imprudence. She did not ask these 
questions brutally ; she weighed each word she uttered, 
and they were so well chosen, that the Abbe was not com- 
pelled to enter into any personalities. His answers were 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


225 


somewhat contradictory, but he ended by saying that an 
honest nature had the right to prevent evil, or rather that 
it was his duty to prevent evil, even if to do so, he were 
obliged to employ somewhat questionable means. 

“This is my opinion, dear lady,’^ he said in conclusion. 
“This question of means is always a most troublesome 
one, and one which is a great pitfall for careless feet. 
But I know your honesty. Weigh each one of your 
acts, and if your conscience is satisfied, go on boldly. 
Honest natures have the marvellous faculty of putting 
something of their own honesty into all they touch.’^ 

And with a sudden change of tone, he added : 

“ Say to Monsieur Quenu that I am glad to hear that 
he is well, and to dear little Pauline, that I am coming to 
see her soon. Au revoir, dear lady ; may all go well with 
you.’^ 

He returned to the vestry, and Lisa as she went out 
had the curiosity to see if Claire was still kneeling. But 
Claire had returned to her carp and her eels, and before 
the Chapel of the Virgin there was nothing but several 
turned-over chairs to indicate that any one had been there. 

When Lisa crossed the Square again. La Normande, who 
had been watching for her, knew her by the amplitude of 
her skirts, dark as it had grown. 

“Well, well!^’ she said. “The creature has been there 
more than an hour. What now, I wonder ? ’’ 

The next morning Lisa went up to Florent’s room. 
She was quite sure that she should not be disturbed, but was 
prepared to say, if Florent should chance to come in, that 


226 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


she wanted to measure the bed for new sheets. Taking her 
seat at the little table, she took out the drawer, emptied it 
carefully, and as she examined the papers, replaced them 
just as she found them. 

She examined the first chapters of the work on Cayenne, 
then the rough sketches of the proposed changes of the 
organization of the market. 

These pages of fine writing did not interest her in the 
least, and she was about to replace the drawer convinced 
that it was elsewhere that Florent concealed the evidences 
of his infamous plots. Suddenly her hand fell on an en- 
velope which contained aphotographof La belle Norraande. 
The photograph was too dark. La Normande stood with 
her right arm resting on a broken pillar, and she wore all 
her trinkets, a much trimmed black silk, aud an inso- 
lent smile. 

Lisa forgot her brother-in-law, and the terrors which 
had sent her there. She was absorbed in one of those 
contemplations with which a woman, when not afraid 
of being seen, examines another woman — her rival, 
past, present or to come. She looked at the hair, the 
nose and the mouth ; held the photograph at a distance, 
and then scrutinized it closely. She turned it over : on 
the back was written : Louise to her friend Florent.” 

She was tempted to take possession of this carte, and 
use it at some future time against her adversary. She 
decided, however, that this would not do — that it was not 
right. Besides, could she not always find it where it was? 

The idea then struck her, that she had not looked at 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


227 


the back of the drawer among Augustine’s needles and 
cottons. Between the prayer book and the book of 
dreams, she found that for which she was looking : the 
most compromising notes protected simply by a sheet of 
gray paper. 

The idea of a rising — of the tearing down of the 
Empire, advanced one night by Logre, had slowly ripened 
in Florent’s brain. He fancied now that it was his duty — 
his mission, and the end for which he had been allowed to 
return from Cayenne. He had formed a plan to induce 
the Halles to rise in open revolt. As they held the sup- 
plies for this great city, they had, he felt, the matter in their 
own hands. 

Florent was unhappy all day long. His avocations 
were utterly distasteful to him. He slept but indiffer- 
ently, and when he returned from the Cabaret late, he had 
nothing to do but to write and prepare the famous insur- 
rection. 

He had divided Paris into twenty sections, each having 
its chief, a sort of general, who had under his orders 
twenty lieutenants commanding twenty companies. Each 
week a consultation would be held by these chiefs ; each 
time in a different place. He deemed it advisable also, 
that each of these companies should believe themselves 
charged with some imaginary mission, which would most 
effectually bewilder the police. 

As to the setting these forces in operation, the means 
were simple enough. They would simply await the first 
political excitement after their organization was complete, 


228 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


and then they would take advantage of it. The details of 
this vague outline Florent worked upon regularly every 
evening, as if it had been a drama he was writing, and 
sketched them on scraps of paper, which each demonstrated 
to a keen observer, the mingled shrewdness and childish- 
ness of their author. 

When Lisa had looked over these papers, they fell from 
her trembling hands. She felt as if she dared not touch 
them any more than she would have handled gunpowder. 

One note terrified her more than the others : it was a 
half sheet of paper on which Florent had drawn, Avith 
colored crayons, the form of the insignia which should 
distinguish the chiefs and the lieutenants. This fact, 
that the generals were to wear red scarfs, brought the 
danger well home to Lisa. She saw the crowd pass 
before her shop and fire through her beautiful plate-glass 
windows, shattering her mirrors and her marble counters. 
Her brother-in-law seemed to have attacked her person- 
ally, and by his nefarious projects ruined her happiness. 
She closed the drawer, and looked around the room. 
Could it be possible that she had sheltered this man — that 
he had slept in this bed, and that these incendiary docu- 
ments were in the drawer of that innocent-looking table, 
which she had so long used at Uncle Gradelle’s before her 
marriage? She stood motionless, wondering what she had 
best do. First, it was useless to attempt any drilling of 
Quenu : he would never do what she Avanted, as she 
Avanted him. She almost decided on an explanation Avith 
Florent, but she feared that he Avould simply take himself 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


229 


off and compromise them as much somewhere else. On 
the whole, it was best to keep him under her observation. 
She should know then the first danger, and be able to 
take the requisite steps to avoid it. 

When she went into the shop, she found Augustine in a 
state of great excitement. Pauline had not been seen for 
an hour. To Lisa’s impetuous questions, she could only 
say : 

‘‘ She was on the sidewalk by the door with a little boy. 
I was looking at them, but several customers came in, one 
after another, and I waited upon them, and it was some 
time before I missed the child.” 

It was Much. I am sure it was Much ! ” answered 
the charcutihe, Oh ! what a torment he is.” 

It was Much. Pauline, who wore a new dress that 
day, wished to show it. So she paraded up and down 
before the shop with all the tremendous gravity of a 
neat little girl, who is afraid of getting herself and her 
fine clothes dirty. Her skirts were very short and stiffly 
starched, setting out like those of a ballet-dancer, showing 
her well-fitting cotton hose without one wrinkle, and her 
shining boots, which were as blue as the sky. Her white 
apron was low in the neck, and displayed her white shoul- 
ders and dimpled, rosy arms. She wore tiny turquoise 
ear-rings, and a blue ribbon in her carefully brushed 
hair. There was something of her mother’s tender 
sweetness in the child’s expression, while her whole air 
was that of a French doll. 

Much, over in the market, had seen her. He had just 


230 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


put into the gutter some tiny dead whiting, and as the 
water bore them away, he declared they were swimming. 
But seeing Pauline so fair and fresh, he forgot his fish, 
and dashed across the gutter, without shoes or stockings, 
his torn jacket showing his shirt. 

His mother had absolutely forbidden him ever to play 
with that child, whose parents stuffed her until she was 
ready to burst.’’ But he cared little for this. He stood 
and looked at Pauline a minute or two, and then went 
nearer and touched her blue dress. Pauline was flattered, 
but she frowned, and said, pettishly : 

Do go away. My mother does not like me to play 
with you.” 

At this Much laiighed immoderately. 

‘‘ Who cares ? ” he answered promptly, already cherish- 
ing in his wicked little head a plan to soil the freshness 
of Pauline’s pretty garments. The child’s instinct must 
have told her this, for she retreated at once. Then he 
became more gentle. 

What a pretty little cross that is on your neck ! Is it 
your mother’s?” 

Pauline tossed her head, and said it was her own. He 
coaxed her along as far as the corner of la Rue Pirouette. 
He asked how her skirts could ever have been made so 
stiff, at which the child colored with pleasure. But she 
was much annoyed that no one in the street seemed to 
notice her. 

Come along ! ” said Much ; but the child refused. 

He held up a sou, and little Pauline followed it blindly. 

What do you like best? ” he asked. 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 


231 


She did^not reply at once, for the truth was, that she 
liked many things. He named over several : molasses 
candy, gum-balls, powdered sugar. The last made the 
child hesitate. She could dip her finger into the sugar 
and suck it. It was awfully good. She was very serious, 
but suddenly exclaimed : 

“ No ; I like cornets best.” 

He took her hand and led her on, without any resistance 
on her part. They crossed la Rue Rambuteau, following 
the wide sidewalk until they reached a grocer’s in la Rue 
de la Cossonerie, which was quite famous for his cornets. 

Cornets are horns of paper, in which confectioners put 
the debris of their bottles and boxes, broken sugar-plums, 
marrons glaces, which have crumbled to pieces, and all such 
o<lds and ends. Much did things in very good style. He 
allowed Pauline to choose her cornet, which was blue to 
match her dress, and laid down his sou. When Pauline 
was outside the shop, she opened the paper and poured 
the contents into the two pockets of her apron, and the 
pockets were so tiny that they bulged out. 

Then she began to eat slowly and leisurely, wetting her 
finger to catch the tiniest crumb. This naturally melted 
the sugar, and soon two brown spots disfigured her dainty 
apron. 

Much laughed in mischievous glee, and pulling her 
along, he said : 

Come and play ! come and play ! ” 

They entered the Square, which was the place where Much 
had originally intended to take his conquest. He did the 


232 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 


honors of the Square as if it were his own domain. Never 
had Pauline been so far from home. The fountain was 
running, and Jean Gorgeous nymphs bending over their 
urns, gave a touch of grace to the Quartier Saint-Denis. 

The children looked at the water falling into the huge 
basins, and wondered if they could not creep under the 
evergreens against the railing. 

Much, who had by this time succeeded in his fell inten- 
tion of crumpling the beautiful dress in the rear, now 
proposed that they should throw sand at each other. 

This proposition delighted Pauline^s heart. They 
threw the sand, which fell down the neck of the little 
one’s dress, and ran down to her shoes and stockings. 
Much was delighted at seeing the pretty white apron 
becoming a dirty yellow, but it was still far too clean in 
his eyes. 

“ I know how to make beautiful gardens,” he said. 

Gardens ! ” murmured Pauline, full of admiration. 

Then, as the police were not to be seen, he dug several 
holes in the gravel walk. She was on her knees in the 
middle of the soft earth, and would suddenly throw 
herself forward with her lovely little arms buried up to 
the elbows in the sand. He went to look for bits of wood 
and sprigs of verdure, and finally ventured to break off a 
branch from a tree. He stripped this branch into small 
bits, which he planted in the holes dug by Pauline, none 
of which he declared were deep enough. 

When at last their garden was made, and she rose to 
her feet, Much was enchanted, for she was as dirty a little 


THE MAKKETS OF PAEIS. 


233 


object as was ever seen. Her very hair was filled with 
sand. 

/‘Now we must water them!’’ he exclaimed, clapping 
his hands. “ They won’t grow without water, you know.” 

This was the finishing touch. They left the Square, 
scooped up the water from the gutter in their hands, and 
ran back to water the plants in their garden. Pauline, 
who was fat and did not know how to run, let all the 
water drip through her fingers, so that on the sixth 
journey she looked as if she had been rolled in the gutter. 
Much thought her prettier when she was dirty than when 
clean. He made her sit down and look at their garden, 
which, he declared, was growing — he took her hand and 
called her his little wife. 

“You are not sorry you came, are you?” he asked. 
“ I know lots of games, and we will play them all, only 
you must not say anything about it to mamma. If you 
do, I will pull your hair whenever I pass your shop.” 

Pauline said “ yes,” again ; while he, as a last bit of 
gallantry, filled the two pockets of her apron with earth. 
He gave her a little pinch, out of pure mischief, and she 
begau to cry. Her sweets were gone, her garden was 
made, and she wished to go home. 

But Much shook his head, and said he really did not 
know about that. The little girl began to sob, and he 
would certainly have beaten her, to compel her to hold 
her tongue, had not Mademoiselle suddenly appeared on 
the scene. 

“Good heavens!” she cried, “can this be Pauline? 
Let her alone, you abominable little scamp ! ” 


234 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


The old maid took Pauline by the hand, with many 
exclamations at the pitiable state of her garments. Much 
was not in the smallest degree frightened. He followed 
them, chuckling over the success of his self-appointed task, 
and declaring vociferously that it was all the child^s fault 
— she had insisted on going with him, and then she had 
fallen. 

Mademoiselle Saget was familiar with this Square. 
She often came there and took her seat on one of the 
benches among the common people. By her side some 
sallow woman was mending stockings or darning hand- 
kerchiefs, while watching her dirty children at play before 
her. 

Here she overheard many a bit of gossip that interested 
her — many a slanderous tale of the people of the Quartier 
— tales which emanated from the Concierges, and which 
whetted her curiosity to know more. She soon learned 
who lived on every floor of the houses built on the three 
sides of the Square. The Restaurant Baratte interested 
her particularly, with its wine-shop and gay awnings. 
She liked to watch this pasteboard-like temple affixed to 
a decrepid old house. Behind the shades she knew that 
good meals were being served all the time. 

Pauline was now crying bitterly. The old maid placed 
her on a bench near the gate, and said : 

Come, now, don’t cry any more ; the police will come 
if you do. I will take you home to your mother, and you 
know that I am your friend.” 

But the child could not restrain herself, and Madcmoi- 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


235 


selle Saget allowed her to sob until she was tired. The 
poor little image was indescribable. She had wiped her 
tears away with her dirty little hands, and she was mud 
to the roots of her hair. When she was calmed down, 
the old maid said, sweetly : 

“Your mother is good to you, is she not? She loves 
you — ” 

“Yes, yes,” murmured the child. 

“And your father is good, too ? He never whips you, 
and he never quarrels with your mamma? What do 
they say at night, when they go to bed?” 

“ I donT know ; I am always asleep.” 

“ Do they talk about your Cousin Florent?” 

“I donT know.” 

Mademoiselle Saget put on a very severe look, and 
rose as if to go away. “I am afraid you tell stories. 
That is very wrong, and, if you can’t speak the truth, I 
shall go away and leave you with Much — Much will 
whip you.” 

Much, who was leaning over the back of the bench, 
said, in his decided tone ; 

“ She is a little goose, and she never hears anything ; 
but I know that my good friend Florent turned every 
color of the rainbow, when my mother told him he could 
kiss her if he wanted to.” 

Pauline lifted up her voice, now, in a wail of childish 
agony. 

“Hush!” said the old woman, shaking her violently. 
“ I am not going away. I will buy you some sugar, too, if 
you are quiet. Then you do not like your Cousin Florent ?” 


236 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


JSTo ; mamma says he is not good.” 

“There, now, you see your mamma did say some- 
thing.” 

“ And one night — I had Monton sleeping with me — one 
night she said to papa : ^ Your brother has escaped from 
the galleys only to take us back with him.’ ” 

Mademoiselle Saget uttered a sharp exclamation, and 
started to her feet. A ray of light struck her full in the 
face. She snatched Pauline’s hand and hurried her along, 
her lips compressed, but a fierce light in her eyes. At the 
corner of la Rue Pirouette, Much suddenly disappeared, 
in spite of the reluctance he felt to lose the pleasure of 
seeing the child, in her muddy stockings and ruined shoes, 
received by her mother. 

Lisa was devoured with anxiety. When she saw her 
little Pauline in this lamentable condition she was so over- 
whelmed that she did not think of punishing her. The 
old woman said in her sharp voice ; 

“ It is that vile little Much. I bring her back to you, 
and you had best be very thankful. I found them under 
a tree on the Square.” 

Lisa could not speak. She did not know where to take 
hold of the child, whose skin was encrusted with dirt, as 
was everything she wore. But she was most exasperated 
by the sand in the apron pockets. She pointed to the door 
and said: 

“ Leave the room, you dirty little creature ! ” 

Mademoiselle Saget was quite enlivened by this scene, 
and left the shop in radiant spirits. Her slender feet flew 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


237 


over the pavement. At last she knew the truth, and 
Florent was in her power. She went to the fruit-market. 

‘^Have you won a prize in a lottery?’^ said La Sarri- 
ette, gayly; ‘^you seem to be very happy, judging by your 
smiles.’^ 

^^Ah ! my dear, if you only knew ! ’’ 

La Sarriette was charming amid her fruits. Her 
sleeves were rolled above her elbows, and looked like 
peaches with the down upon them. She had hung cherries 
on her ears, with a recollection of what she had done as a 
child. She had been eating berries, and her mouth was 
stained with their juice. 

Fruits were piled before her, while at the back of her 
stall lay melons and cantaloupes. Choice fruits were in 
baskets, and reminded one of children’s glowing faces 
seen through curtains of leaves. Peaches were especially 
superb; apricots were amber-tinted; and cherries were full 
and ripe. Apples and pears were piled high, next trans- 
parent prunes ; while strawberries exhaled their exquisite 
perfume — the wood strawberries particularly. Raspberries 
added another odor to these, while baskets of grapes, 
large, heavy clusters of grapes, hung over the side of 
the baskets, and let their seeds, browned and ripened by 
the warm kisses of the sun, fall slowly one by one. La 
Sarriette lived here as in an orchard, intoxicated by 
odors. 

As the warm sun brought out the musky odors of the 
melons. La Sarriette would loosen her fichu, and let more 
of her satiny throat be seen. 

15 


238 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


Next lier was an old woman who sold at her stall 
withered apples, pears which hung like pendulous breasts, 
and apricots that had a weird, sickly look, sulphur color 
specked with red. But La Sarriette’s peaches were like 
her cheeks and the corners of her mouth; her cherries like 
her lips. She wanted to show Mademoiselle Saget some 
wonderful plums that had just come in, but the old 
woman said : 

^‘No, I have no time now. I must see Madame 
Lecoeur. I have strange things to tell her ; come, if you 
choose.’^ 

La Sarriette could not resist the temptation. Mon- 
sieur Jules was sitting near by. 

‘‘ Take care of my stall for a little while, will you ? ’’ 
she said. I will be back presently.” He called out after 
her as she turned the corner : 

‘‘No, Lisette, I am going away. I do not choose to 
wait an hour, as I did the other day. Your prunes give 
me the headache,” and he walked off with his hands in 
his pocket, leaving the stall to take care of itself. 

The two women were by this time out of sight and 
out of hearing. They were told that Madame Lecoeur was 
in the cellar, and La Sarriette went down to find her, 
leaving her companion among the cheeses. 

The cellar was very dark, for the gas-lights were few 
and far between, and burned but dimly in the bad air. 
Madame Lecoeur was at work on her butter at one of the 
tables near the iron gratings on la Rue Berger, through 
which came a pale daylight. The tables were constantly 


THE MAKIvETS OF PARIS. 


239 


washed by floods from the faucets, and were as white as 
snow. Women were working over their butter. They 
took samples of different qualities, mixed them, corrected 
the flavor of one by adding more of another, just as is done 
with wines. They kneaded the mass before them with 
all their strength, and squeezed out every drop of butter- 
milk. 

Mademoiselle Saget wishes to see you. Aunt,” said La 
Sarriette. 

Madame Lecoeur stopped, straightened her cap with her 
buttery fingers regardless of spots. 

I have nearly done,” she answered. Tell her to 
wait.” 

She has something very interesting to tell you.” 

‘^One moment,” was the reply. She had plunged in 
her arms again. The butter came up to her elbows — it 
had been previously softened in tepid water — and oiled 
her parchment-like skin, from which the purple veins 
started out like whip-cords. 

La Sarriette was disgusted by these ugly arms at work 
in this yellow mass. But she remembered that she had 
worked there many a long afternoon, and that this liad 
been her jpdte d^amande which had preserved the beauty 
of her pretty little hands. 

I don’t think your butter will be very good. Aunty. 
I can smell it here.” 

‘^To be sure you can,” answered Madame Lecoeur, 
briskly ; ^^but it can’t be helped. There are always people 
who are on the look out for a bargain.” 


240 


THE MAEKETS OP PAEIS. 


La Sarriette thought she would not care to eat any of 
this butter. She looked into a little jar, which was full 
of a sort of red dye. 

“ Your rancourt is too light.” 

Rancourt is a preparation intended to give the butter a 
tempting hue. The butter-makers religiously preserve 
the secret of its manufacture. It is, in reality, composed 
of anotta seed, with an addition sometimes of carrots, and 
a decoction of marigold flowers. 

Come, do come,” said the young woman, impatiently. 
Mademoiselle Saget is in a hurry. She has heard some- 
thing important about Uncle Gavard.” 

Madame Lecoeur wiped her arms hastily, and followed 
her niece up the stairs, saying, anxiously : 

Do you think she can have gone ? ” 

But she was comforted by seeing Mademoiselle Saget 
standing among the cheeses. The three women sat down 
close together. Mademoiselle Saget did not speak for two 
good minutes, and then she said, slowly : 

Do you wish to know where Florent comes from, and 
who he is ? ” 

No one spoke. 

Very well. He comes from the galleys.” 

♦ The smell of cheese filled the air — cheese from Brittany 
and from Normandy, done up in cloths. By the side of 
prints of butter was a Chester and a Gruyere: the first a 
bright gold color, and the latter looking like a gigantic 
wheel. Parmesan and Brie were on plates — a Roquefort 
near by. Tiny cheeses of goats’ milk were not especially 
tempting. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


241 


repeated the old maid; comes from the 
galleys ! These Quenu-Gradelles need not be so fine.” 

But Madame Lecoeur and La Sarriette uttered exclama- 
tions of astonishment. It was impossible. What had he 
done? Who would have imagined that Madame Quenu, 
proud as she was, would have chosen such a lover ? 

“You are all out,” cried the old maid, impatiently. 

Listen to me. I knew that I had seen the fellow some- 
where.” 

She told them Floreiit^s story. She recalled the vague 
reports which had once been current, of a nephew of old 
Gradelle’s, having been sent to Cayenne for having killed a 
half-dozen soldiers at a barricade. She had seen him 
more than once herself, and this was the very man. She 
lamented that she was losing her memory. She wept 
over the loss like a student who sees the wind carry off 
the notes amassed in a lifetime of labor. 

“ Six soldiers ! ” murmured La Sarriette. “ He must be 
as strong as a lion.” 

“And I dare say he has killed as many more since,” 
added Mademoiselle Saget. “I should not like to meet 
him in the dark.” 

“But,” said Madame Lecoeur, “if he is big Lisa’s 
brother-in-law, he is not her lover.” 

They all looked at each other, and then the old maid 
said, primly : 

“ I really don’t see why not.” 

“Except,” interposed La Sarriette, “that you say he is 
the lover of the two Mehudens.” 


242 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


‘^Certainly he is. But I don’t care whose lover he is, 
after all ; it is all one to me. But he is a rascal.” 

Of course he is : a thorough rascal ! ” echoed the others. 

They then began to depict all sorts of catastrophes, 
which would be likely to overtake the fair Lisa. This 
brother-in-law would certainly work her some evil, and 
then why was he at the Halles? He must be projecting 
some terrible plot. They decided that new locks should 
be placed on the poultry-cellars, while La Sarriette 
reminded her Aunt that only the week before, some one 
had stolen a basket of peaches. But Mademoiselle Saget 
informed them, loftily, that the “Beds” never did such 
things as that. They would not condescend to touch a 
basket of peaches, but they would pillage and burn. 

Madame Lecoeur turned pale. She saw the Halles in 
flames, and Florent and his associates bursting out on the 
devoted city. 

“And he shares with Quenu old Gradelle’s fortune,” 
said Mademoiselle Saget. “I should not think they 
would like his appearing among them in this way.” 

She then went on to describe Lisa’s finding this money, 
and told the precise sum, which neither Quenu nor his 
wife had confided to any one. It was clear that Florent 
had not received his portion, or he would be better 
dressed. The three women rolled this sweet morsel under 
their tongues, but finally decided it were best not to attack 
La belle Lisa, but turn their attention to Florent himself. 

“ I have seen Mademoiselle L^once,” said the old maid, 
with a significant glance. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


24a 


The two others were very attentive. Madame L6once 
was Gavard’s concierge. He lived in an old house which 
was occupied in the lower story by an importer of lemons 
and oranges. 

Madame L^once kept house, and carried the keys, and 
made tisane for the old gentleman when he was ill. She 
was a cold, severe-looking woman, between fifty and sixty, 
speaking very slowly, and extremely aggrieved because 
Gavard had kissed her on one occasion. Mademoiselle 
Saget took coffee with her every Wednesday evening, and 
the two talked incessantly of the worthy poultry-merchant. 
They were both very fond of him, and wished him to be 
happy. 

Yes, I saw Madame L4once,” repeated the old maid. 

saw her last evening. She was in great trouble. 
It seems that Monsieur Gavard never goes home until 
after one o’clock — she had some hot soup ready for him 
Sunday night.’’ 

She knows what she is about ! ” said Madame Lecoeur, 
bitterly. 

Mademoiselle Saget thought she ought to protect her 
friend. 

Not at all. You are quite mistaken. Madame Leonce 
is above her position. Had she chosen to feather her 
nest there, she could have done so long ago. He trusts 
everything to her, and that is why I wish to speak to 
you, but you must remember that I speak in confidence.” 

They swore never to open their lips, and she continued; 

Monsieur Gavard has bought a pistol, and keeps it on 
a table at the side of his bed — and this is not all. His — ” 


244 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


“ His money ? ” gasped Madame Lecoeur. 

— Is all in his wardrobe. He has sold out all his 
securities and keeps gold on hand.” 

Gold ? ” interrupted La Sarriette. 

Yes, a great pile of gold. Madame L^once told me 
that he opened the wardrobe one day in her presence, and 
that it hurt her eyes, it was so bright.” 

The eyes of the three women were distended as if they 
saw the gold before them. 

I wish my uncle would give it to me — all this beautiful 
gold,” said La Sarriette, gayly. ‘‘Jules and I would have 
a very good time.” 

Madame Lecoeur had little to say. The thought of 
this gold crushed her to the earth. 

“ If I were you,” said Mademoiselle Saget, addressing 
her, “ I should watch over my own interests. This pistol 
shows that Monsieur Gavard has bad advisers.” 

They all three fell once more on Florent. They pulled 
him deliberately to pieces. They swore never to open 
their mouths, not out of regard to Florent, but to that 
worthy Monsieur Gavard. 

As they were about to separate, the butter-merchant 
said : 

“Do you think we can trust Madame L4once?” 

“You ask me too much,” answered the old woman. 
“ I think her a very honest woman, but I by no means 
answer for her; you must judge for yourselves.” 

The smell of the cheeses grew stronger and stronger, 
and yet it seemed as if the stench from the words uttered 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 245 

by the venomous tongues of these women was worse tlian 
all. 

thank you sincerely,” said the market-woman, ‘^and 
if I am ever rich I will show my gratitude with more 
than words.” 

But Mademoiselle Saget still lingered. She took up a 
tiny cheese, turned it over, and laid it down again. 
Then she asked the price. 

‘‘For me?” she added, in an insinuating tone. 

“To you, nothing,” answered Madame Lecoeur. “I 
give it to you,” and she added, with a sigh : “ If I were 
only rich ! ” 

The cheese quickly disappeared in the basket; the 
butter-merchant went down to the cellar, and the old 
woman walked on with La Sarriette to her stall. 

“ It smells nicer here than at your Aunt’s place,” said 
Mademoiselle Saget. “ I really felt sick there. But here 
everything is as sweet as yourself, my beauty ! ” 

La Sarriette laughed. She liked compliments, and 
said, as she sold some plums to a lady, that they were 
like sugar. 

“I should like to buy some, too,” said the old maid, 
when the lady had gone, “only I want so few. You see, 
one lone woman — ” 

“Take a handful,” cried the pretty brunette. “It 
won’t ruin me ! Send Jules here, will you, if you see him. 
He is probably smoking his cigar on the first bench to 
the right as you go out.” 

Mademoiselle Saget lengthened her fingers to take up a 


246 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


handful of plums, which she popped into her basket with 
the little cheese. She pretended that she was about to 
leave the Halles, but she lingered still, not being quite 
content with her dinner of cheese and plums. She returned 
to the butter-market, behind which were the stalls of 
cooked meats. Each morning small, close wagons, like 
boxes of zinc, with trays and perforated sides, stopped at 
the doors of the restaurants, and at the ministers’ and 
ambassadors’, where the cooks sold the debris from the 
kitchen. All this was sorted in the cellars at the market, 
and as early as nine o’clock, the plates were displayed at 
three and five sous — bits of meat, a wing of a bird, heads 
or tails of fish, vegetables, and ham. Other plates were 
devoted to the desserts — cakes a trifle broken, and bon- 
bons, which were almost whole. 

Hungry-looking women, clerks and boys stood at these 
stalls, among which Mademoiselle Saget quietly slipped. 
She especially affected one woman, who pretended that all 
she sold came from the Tuileries, which was some consola- 
tion to the pride of the little old jvoman, as she ate her 
slice of cold mutton. 

Next to her, on this occasion, stood a tall old man, who 
was buying a plate of fish and meat mixed. Mademoiselle 
Saget had her eyes on some fried white-bait, for three sous. 
She bargained the woman down, and, getting it for two 
sous, put it into her basket. 

The first movement of each purchaser at these stalls was 
to smell of the dishes. The odor about the place was not 
inviting, as it suggested dirty dish-water and grease. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


247 


'^Corae and see me to-morrow,” said the woman. 

There is to be a great dinner at the Tuileries to-night, 
and I will put aside something nice for you.” 

Mademoiselle Saget promised to come, and as she turned 
away, she saw Gavard, who had heard. She turned very 
red, but pretended not to see him, as she drew her shawl 
close about her thin shoulders, and went away. He 
followed her a short distance, saying to himself that the 
wickedness of this magpie did not astonish him, if she ate 
the things which were cooked at the Tuileries.” 

The next day a vague rumor began to circulate in the 
Halles. Mademoiselle Saget showed her own peculiar 
skill. She allowed Mademoiselle Lecoeur and La Sarri- 
ette to say what they pleased, while she held her tongue. 
The stories they set in circulation were most extraordinary, 
beginning at first with a few words, expanding later, until 
Florent had killed ten gendarmes at the barricades. He 
had returned to France on a piratical craft, and ever since 
his arrival had been busy with new plots. When the 
imagination of these women was let loose, they soon 
organized a band of smugglers and thieves, who devastated 
Paris in the most systematic manner. They had a great 
deal to say about the inheritance which the Quenu- 
Gradelles had appropriated. The general opinion was, 
that Florent had returned to obtain his rights, and that he 
was only awaiting a good opportunity to pocket the whole. 
Some day the Quenu-Gradelles would be found dead in 
their beds, for there were terrible quarrels every day there 
now. 


248 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


When these stories reached La belle Normande she 
shrugged her shoulders, and laughed. 

You are ridiculous, she said. ^^The dear man is as 
gentle as a lamb ! ” 

She had just refused to marry Monsieur Lebigre, who 
had offered himself in due form, after innumerable little 
attentions. Every Sunday for two months he sent a bottle 
of liqueur to the Mehudens. It wiis Rose who brought it 
with her submissive air, aud delivered it to La Normande 
with a complimentary message, which she repeated accu- 
rately, apparently without being in the least annoyed by 
this strange commission. When Monsieur Lebigre was 
dismissed, he sent Rose the next Sunday with two bottles 
of champagne and a huge bouquet, which seemed to 
indicate that he had not lost all hope. 

Rose walked up to the pretty fish-woman, and recited, 
without a pause, this madrigal from the wine-merchant : 

“ Monsieur Lebigre begs you to drink this to his health, 
which has been much shaken by what you know of. He 
hopes that you will be kind enough to cure him some day 
by being as beautiful and sweet as these bowers.” 

La Normande was much amused. She asked many 
questions of the woman about her master. She asked 
if he wore suspenders, and if he snored at night, and then 
told her to take away the champagne and the bouquet. 

“ Tell your master he must send me nothing more. You 
are a very obliging little woman. I am sure — ” 

He told me to come,” answered Rose, plaintively, ^^and 
I think you are doing very wrong, to treat him so cruelly ! 
He is a very handsome man.” 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


249 


La Normande was entirely carried away by Florent’s 
quiet consistency of character. She sat and listened to the 
instruction he gave to Much night after night, and made up 
her mind that she would marry this man, who was so kind 
to her boy ; she would keep her stall in the market, and 
he would be promoted to some higher position. But this 
dream received no encouragement from anything in the 
manner of the Professor toward her. He kept her at a 
distance when she was quite ready to fall into his arms. 
Florent might, perhaps, have yielded to her charms, but 
for his attachment to little Much. The idea, too, of a 
mistress in the same house with her mother and sister, 
revolted him. 

La Normande learned the history of the man she loved 
with no small surprise, for never had he made the small- 
est allusion to it. She insisted on his talking to her now, 
and asked if he did not fear that the police would find 
him. He reassured her, saying that it was too old a story, 
and that they would not trouble themselves. One evening 
he told her about the woman on the boulevard Montmar- 
tre, the lady in the rose-colored bonnet, and of the breast, 
pierced through all the soft muslins and laces, whose blood 
had drenched his hands. The thought of her had haunted 
him all these years. She had gone with him to Guiana, 
and he had come back to France, with the bewildered idea 
that he should find her still lying on the sidewalk. Never 
to this day did he see a rose-colored bonnet and a shawl 
falling from the shoulders, without a sick feeling at his 
heart. When he closed his eyes he could see her coming 


250 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 


toward him witli her sad, affrighted eyes and white lips. 
He had never heard her name, and yet she was his model 
of all that was pure and good. It seemed to him that had 
he met her a few moments earlier she would have glad- 
dened his whole life. No, he would have no other wife. 
He would never marry. 

He did not say this, but his voice shook, the femi- 
nine instinct of La Normande grasped his meaning, and 
she became wildly jealous of the dead woman. 

It was a great pity you saw her,” she said, maliciously, 
‘^because she could not have been very beautiful by that 
time.” 

Florent turned pale. He never forgave La belle Nor- 
mande for this brutality, which forever more, compelled 
him to associate the idea of a charnel house, with that pale 
face framed in rose-colored silk. 

By this time La belle Normande began to see, that she 
was mistaken in thinking she had stolen a lover from Lisa. 
This diminished her triumph so much, that her love for 
Florent lessened considerably in the next week. But she 
was comforted by hearing about the fortune which La belle 
Lisa was keeping from her brother-in-law. 

When Florent next came, as he sat writing copies, she 
said to him : 

“ What a strange idea that was of your Uncle’s to put his 
money in a salting barrel ! Eighty-five thousand francs is 
a very nice sum, but I dare say the Quenus lied and 
there was twice as much. If I were you I would insist 
on my share and at once.” 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


251 


I don’t want it/’ answered Florent. I have no use 
for it.” 

This was too much for her. She burst forth : 

Don’t you understand that these people are cheating 
you? Lisa passes over to you her husband’s old linen and 
old clothes. I do not say this to wound you, but every one 
sees it. You are wearing pantaloons that we have all seen 
on your brother for the last three years. I should throw 
these old rags in their faces and ask for my money. Forty- 
two thousand francs, is it not? Very well, then ; I would 
not go out of the shop until I had them.” 

In vain did Florent explain that his sister-in-law had 
offered him his share, and that he could have it whenever 
he pleased. He entered into a lengthy explanation in order 
to convince her of Quenu’s honesty. 

I know all about their honesty,” she exclaimed. “Fat 
Lisa folds it up, and packs it away in her wardrobe so that 
she may not wear it out. But, my poor friend ! you see 
no further than a child of five years old. She could pay 
you your money with one hand, and take it away with the 
other. I say you ought to insist on your rights. I wish 
you would let me go and have it out with them.” 

“ No, no ! ” exclaimed Florent, quite horrified. “ I will 
see about it myself soon.” 

She doubted the truth of what he said, and told him 
that he was altogether too gentle. She determined to keep 
him up to the mark, and when she was his wife she wouhl 
soon settle with Lisa. She lay in her bed at night build- 
ing all sorts of plans. She saw herself going into the shop 


252 


THE MAEKETS OF PARIS. 


and making a terrible scene just when it was crowded. She 
found such infinite delight in this project that she would 
have married Florent, if for no other reason than to claim 
this money. 

Old Mother Mehuden, who was utterly exasperated at 
Monsieur Lebigre^s dismissal, called her daughter an idiot, 
and declared that the Skeleton,” the graceful name she 
gave to Florent, had bewitched her by some nasty drug. 
When she heard the story of Cayenne, she was absolutely 
horrible in her rage, at the same time declaring that it was 
no more than she expected. She called him all sorts of 
names, and locked up all her drawers as soon as he entered 
the room, in the most ostentatious way. 

One day she had a terrible quarrel with her eldest 
daughter, and ended by saying : 

Look out ! Do not go too far, or I will certainly go 
to the Prefect and denounce this man.” 

^‘Yoii will denounce him !” repeated La Normando, 
trembling all over with terror and indignation. Do not 
think of such a thing. If you were not my mother — ” 

Claire, who was present, began to laugh nervously. 
For some time she had been very quiet and gloomy, 
moving about as if in a dream, with reddened eyes and a 
pale face. 

^^If she were not your mother,” interrupted Claire, 
‘'you would beat her, I suppose you mean. Very well, 
beat me then, as I am only your sister, for I intend to 
save my mother the trouble, by going myself to the 
Prefect.” 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 253 

And as La Normande fairly choked, she added, in a 
strange tone : 

^^And when I have done it, I will throw myself into 
the Seine on my way home ! 

Tears streamed from her eyes, and she rushed from the 
room. They heard her close her own door violently. 
Mother Mehuden said no more about denouncing Florent. 

The rivalry between La belle Normande and La belle 
Lisa assumed a more formidable character. In the after- 
noon, when the awning of gray striped with pink was 
dropped, the fish-woman said aloud, with a sneer, that 
she was hiding herself. The shade in the window also 
exasperated her. It represented a glade in a forest, where 
gentlemen in black coats, and ladies in full ball costume 
were eating a red pat6 as big as themselves. La belle 
Lisa was not afraid, however, and as soon as the sun was 
gone, the shade was drawn up, and she was seen at her 
counter, knitting and calmly contemplating the Square — 
crowded with vagabonds lying under the trees, and porters 
smoking their pipes sat on the benches. At the ends of 
the sidewalk, two advertising columns were filled with 
gay-colored theatrical advertisements. She glanced from 
time to time at La belle Normande, while pretending to 
follow the carriages. Sometimes she leaned , a little for- 
ward to look at the omnibus, running from the Bastile to 
la Place Wagram, but it was merely to see the fish-woman 
more distinctly. La belle Normande was now avenging 
lierself for the dropped shade, by piittiiig over her head 
and on her wares- lavge sheets of brqwn paper, pn the 
16 


254 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


pretext of protecting herself from the setting sun. But 
La belle Lisa triumphed inasmuch as La Normande’s great 
ambition was to do things in good style, and nothing 
humiliated her more than to hear the good manners’^ of 
her rival praised. 

Mother Mehuden had detected this weakness in her 
daughter, and attacked her there. 

I saw Madame Quenu at her door to-night,” she 
would say. ‘Mt is amazing how that woman is preserved. 
She is always so well dressed, with the air of a lady. It is 
the counter, after all. Nothing shows off a woman like 
that.” 

This was a direct allusion to Monsieur Lebigre’s propo- 
sition. La belle Normande did not answer for a moment. 
She was thinking of herself on the other corner of la Hue 
Pirouette — a pendant to La belle Lisa, at the wine mer- 
chant’s counter. Her affection for Florent received a 
severe shock. Florent was very difficult to defend just 
now, for the whole Quartier had turned upon him. Each 
individual behaved as if he had a personal interest in 
exterminating him. One declared that Florent had been 
seen, trying to set a fire in the cellars under the markets, 
and this foolish tale was only one among many. The 
fish-market was the last to yield to this infection. There 
Florent was liked by the fish-women. They stood up for 
him for some time, but constantly influenced by the 
butter and clieese-women, they yielded at last. Then 
recommenced the old struggle of the Fat against the Lean. 
Mademoiselle Saget’s black hat was to be seen at all hours 


THE IklAEKETS OF PARIS. 


255 


and ill all places. Her small, pale face seemed to multi- 
ply. She had sworn to avenge herself on the society 
which assembled nightly in the private room at the 
Cabaret. She accused these gentlemen of laughing at her 
for buying broken victuals. The truth was that Gavard 
one evening had incidentally mentioned that the dried- 
up old maid, who was always spying about, eat the trash 
that the Bonapartists threw away.’’ 

These slices of meat, gathered up from the Emperor’s 
kitchen, were to him the personification of all the disorder 
and corruption of the Government, and from this time 
it was a great joke at the Cabaret to talk of taking 
Mademoiselle Saget up by the tongs. She was regarded 
as some vile beast, who ate the stuff that a properly 
educated dog would have rejected. 

Clemence and Gavard repeated this very poor joke in 
the market, so that the little old maid was seriously 
injured by it. When she hung around a stall, with the 
expectation of some little gift, she would be told, with a 
coarse laugh, to go to the Tuileries’ woman, and buy a 
plate of broken victuals. She fairly wept with mortifi- 
cation, and said to La Sarriette, and to Madame Lecoeur, 
that she would certainly have her revenge on Gavard. 

They made no reply, hoping that she would soon calm 
down. 

Gavard, however, was really compromising himself. 
Ever since the conspiracy was well started, he had carried 
his revolver in his pocket — a revolver which he had pur- 
chased at the best place in Paris, with many precautions 


256 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


and a great air of mystery. The next day he showed it 
to half the women in the poultry-market, binding them to 
secrecy. This pistol gave him great importance in their 
eyes, and placed him definitively in the category of 
dangerous men. He would sometimes pull it out, and 
show the shining trigger to several women at his stall, 
begging them all to stand before him, that he might not be 
seen by other people. Then he would take aim at a goose 
or a turkey, suspended from above, and was delighted 
at the terror of the women, whom he would soothe 
by telling that it was not loaded. Then he would pull 
out a box of cartridges and display those. After they 
had been sufficiently admired, he would put away his 
armory, and with folded arms orate for an hour. 

man with that thing,” he would say, loftily, “ is twice 
a man. Sundays I go with a friend to the Plaine Saint- 
Denis — of course, you understand that I would not tell 
everybody that I took this with me. We take aim at a 
tree, and, bless your little hearts! I hit it each time I fire. 
One of these days you will hear strange stories about 
Anatole.” 

It was his revolver which he called Anatole. At the 
end of a week, every one in the market knew the pistol, and 
the cartridges. He was too rich and too stout to be 
included in the distrust and hatred they felt for Florent, 
but the esteem with which he was formerly regarded, was 
greatly lessened, and timid persons became afraid of him. 

It is very imprudent to carry arms about one,” said 
Mademoiselle Saget, sententiously. ‘^Some accident will 
certainly happen I ” 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 257 

Ever since Florent had given up taking his meals at his 
brother’s he almost lived at the Cabaret, and the private 
room Avas regarded much as if it were his own. An old 
desk was given up to him, in which he kept his books and 
papers. Monsieur Lebigre even kindly added a table, on 
which he said Florent could sleep if it were necessary. 

He showed, in fact, so much kind cordiality, that Florent 
was quite touched. Logre was very kind, also ; and it 
was to him that Florent confided every detail of the plot 
as it gradually ripened, and of which Florent continued to 
be the head. He was at this time perfectly happy ; he no 
longer walked on common earth ; he moved as if on air. 
lie had the credulity of a child, and the confidence of a 
hero. His enthusiasm became intense, and he spoke of the 
coming struggle as of a great fete, to which all brave men 
Avould be bidden. While he talked Gavard played Avith 
his pistol, and Charvet grew more and more bitter, as he 
Avas by no means pleased with the prominent position 
assumed by his rival. He Avas gradually becoming dis- 
gusted Avith politics, and one evening coming into the 
Cabaret rather earlier than usual he found only Monsieur 
Logre and Lebigre there. He opened his heart to them. 

^^He is a fellow,” he said, ^Gvho literally has no notion 
Avhatever of politics. He Avould have done very Avell as a 
professor of Avriting in a young ladies’ boarding-school. It 
Avould be a misfortune to us, rather than a blessing, if he 
should succeed, for everything would be turned upside down. 
These humanitarians and half-Avay poets do not amount 
to much, except in the Avay of talk. He Avill not 


258 THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 

succeed — but he will get himself locked up — as you will 
see.’’ 

His two listeners did not reply : they wished him to 
continue. 

‘‘He would have been arrested long ago,” resumed 
Charvet, “ if he were half as dangerous as he would have 
us believe. The police knew he was here, the very first 
day he set foot in Paris. If they did not interfere with 
him, it was simply because he was too insignificant to give 
them any anxiety.” 

Logre started. 

“Now,” resumed Charvet, “it is different with me. 
For fifteen years I have had half a dozen spies at my 
heels, who will have me arrested whenever the Prefect 
has need of me.” 

“Yes, certainly,” answered Lebigre, mechanically. He 
rarely spoke, and was now paler than usual, as he glanced 
stealthily at Logre. 

“If you take my advice,” added Charvet, “you will 
put an end to this sort of thing going on here, or your 
establishment will be so compromised that it will be closed 
by the government.” 

Logre smiled. This was not the first time that Charvet 
had talked in this way. He wished to frighten them, and 
induce them to break with Florent, through their fears. But 
he found them always undisturbed by anything he could say. 

He was no less regular in his appearance at the Cabaret, 
after this explosion. Cl^mence was always with him. She 
had lost her clerkship at the market. 


THE MAEKETS OF PARIS. 


259 


^^This Monsieur Manory and I have not the same 
political opinions/^ said the brunette, as she carelessly 
twisted a cigarette. That is all there is to be said about 
it. Manory is ready to lick the emperor’s boots.” The 
truth was that she had amused herself one morning in 
placing against the long list of sales a series of caricatures, 
and the names of ladies and gentlemen best known at 
court. Manory had nearly died of horror. Gavard 
laughed whenever he thought of it. 

You ought to have been a man,” he said, slapping her 
shoulder. 

Clemence had adopted a new way of making her grog. 
She first filled the glass with boiling water, which she 
sweetened, and then poured the rum drop by drop on the 
slice of lemon floating on the top. She then lighted this 
rum, and watched it burn, the flames of the alcohol im- 
l)arting a green tinge to her face. But after she lost her 
position at market, she could not indulge in this extrava- 
gance. She lived on the proceeds of some lessons that she 
gave in la Kue Merosmesnil. 

The evenings in the little room were less noisy than 
they had been. Charvet rarely spoke, but glared in silence 
at his rival. The remembrance that he had reigned there, 
before the other’s arrival, gnawed his heart. He continued 
to haunt the place because he was homesick elsewhere. 
He recalled the days, when he had compelled these men 
to think on all precisely as he bade them. The thing 
that enraged him was that he had been dispossessed so 
gradually that he had not seen it himself. He did not 


260 


THE MAKKSTS OF PARIS. 


explain this by admitting Florent’s superiority. He would 
simply say with uplifted brows : 

The fellow talks like a cur4/’ while the others drank in 
his words. Charvet pretended not to be able to find a nail 
on which to hang his hat, so crowded was the small room 
with Florent’s clothing. He even made a formal complaint 
to the proprietor, and asked if the room was the exclusive 
23roperty of any single member of the society. 

Tliis invasion of his rights was the coup de grace. Men 
were brutes, and he despised all humanity, as he noticed 
the way in which Logre and Lebigre hung on Florent^s 
words. He was exasperated by Gavard^s revolver, and 
thought Robine, who never spoke, the most sensible man 
of the lot, while Lacaille and Alexandre only confirmed 
him in the idea that the people were stupid, and that they 
needed a revolutionary dictatorship for at least ten years 
before they could govern themselves. 

Logre declared about this time that the organization of 
the sections was nearly completed, and Florent began to 
distribute the rdles. 

After an animated discussion one night, where he felt 
himself to be in the background, Charvet rose and took 
his bat, saying ; 

Good-night. Amuse yourselves by all means; but I 
don’t propose to work to gratify the ambition of any 
man.” 

Cl^mence wrapped her shawl about her, and added, 
coldly: 

“ The plan is simply impracticable.” 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


261 


And as Robine looked after them, Charvet stopped and 
asked if he would not go with him. But Robine, having 
his glass half full of beer, contented himself with shaking 
hands with the pair, who never came again. Lacaille said 
some days after this, that he had seen them from the street 
in a brewery in La Rue Serpente, gesticulating and talking 
earnestly. 

Florent could never indoctrinate Claude, though he took 
him more than once to Lebigre’s, where the artist spent his 
whole evening in drawing caricatures. He said to Florent 
as they walked home together: 

‘‘The truth is, my dear fellow, I am not in the least in- 
terested in politics; but I want to go there again with you, 
to make two or three sketches, to add to those I drew while 
you were discussing. By the way, what were you discuss- 
ing? The question of the two chambers, was it not? I 
could paint a picture from these sketches, my boy, which 
would be the success of the Salon.” 

Florent was indignant at this indifference, and re- 
proached the painter with his lack of patriotism. Claude 
shook his head. 

“ You are right very likely. I do not say that you are 
not. I cannot even answer you, you see ! I only know 
that France does not need me, and that — Will you allow 
me to be frank ? Well, then, the reason I like you is, 
because you seem to me to be dabbling in politics as I 
dabble in Art. It is only dabbling, my dear fellow.” 

Florent protested. 

“ You are an artist in your own way. You only dream 


262 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


politics, and I am willing to wager that you spend half 
your time up here, gazing at the stars, counting them as 
the votes of the world you can’t see. You are more of a 
poet than a politician, and that is the truth.” He then 
went on to say that he was tired of politics, because he had 
heard so much of them in the various wine-shops and cafes, 
particularly of one in the house occupied by La Sarriette, 
which was the favorite place of the youth of the Halles. 
There Monsieur Jules reigned triumphant. He read the 
journals, and knew all that was going on at the theatres. 
He adored politics ; his ideal was ‘‘ Morny,” whom he 
called thus abruptly. He read the reports of the Corps 
Legislatify and laughed vociferously at every word uttered 
by Morny, and he went on to say that the lower classes 
detested the Emperor, merely because the Emperor wished 
nice people to be happy. 

I have been to this caf6 often,” said Claude, and 
they are funny enough when they, with pipes in their 
mouths, talk of the balls at Court, exactly as if they had 
been invited.” 

^^You live in a nice set of people, certainly,” said 
Elorent, smiling. 

The Painter raised his eyebrows. 

‘^You need not be troubled; they do me no harm. I 
like to see these women of the people in this way, I 
don’t want a wife, though ; one would be sorely in my way. 
Good-night, and sleep well. When you are Minister, I 
will give you my ideas for the embellishment of Paris.” 

Elorent was obliged to relinquish all hope of a convert 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


263 


here. This he regretted, for in spite of his fanatical blind- 
ness and devotion to his theories, he had begun to realize 
the hostility around him, which seemed to increase hourly. 

Even at the Mehudens’, his welcome was less cordial. 
The old woman laughed at him covertly. Much did not 
obey him, and La Normande was out of patience with him, 
for she had, as yet, found no way of arousing him from 
his coldness. She had said to him more than once, that he 
behaved as if he were disgusted with her, and she would 
push back her chair, and go to the other end of the table. 

Auguste’s friendship had likewise vanished. He no 
longer came to his room when he w^ent up-stairs at night. 
He was really terrified by the reports he heard of this 
strange man, with whom he had been shut up for hours at 
a time. Augustine implored him never to be guilty of a 
like imprudence. Lisa vexed them, moreover, by telling 
them that they could not be married as long as Florent 
remained there, as she had no other room to offer them. 

Auguste at once determined that ^^the convict’’ must be 
gotten rid of, and at each noise he heard in the night, he 
hugged himself with joy, thinking that the police had 
come at last to arrest Florent. 

Below-stairs, at the Quenu-Gradelles’, this subject was 
never touched upon. Quenu was a little saddened by the 
coolness between his wife and his brother, but he consoled 
himself by paying more attention to the salting of his lard, 
and to the seasoning of his sausages. He sunned himself 
occasionally on his threshold, without the smallest idea of 
the gossip his appearance aroused. He was much pitied, 


2G4’ 


THE MAKKETS OP PARIS. 


some of the neighbors declaring that he had grown thin, 
though in truth he had never been so stout in his life, 
while others said that he ought to be ashamed to look so 
well when his brother was such a disgrace to him. 

Quenu, they said, like most deceived husbands, was the 
last to know the truth, and was as cheerful as usual, when 
he chatted with some neighbor on the sidewalk. The 
neighbor, however, presented as melancholy and sympa- 
thetic a countenance as if all the pigs in France had been 
suddenly afflicted with the jaundice. 

^‘What on earth is the matter?” he said one day to 
Lisa. These people all look at me as if they were about 
to bury me. Do I look ill ? ” 

She reassured him, telling him that he looked as fresh 
as a rose, for he was terribly afraid of illness, sighing and 
groaning if he suffered from the smallest indisposition. 

But the truth was, the Charcuterie had lost its gayety to 
a very great extent. Claude came in one day, and said to 
his aunt that it looked far less cheerful than it did. The 
customers all asked for their half-pound of lard, or ten 
cents’ worth of pork, with lowered voices, as if in a sick- 
room. 

Lisa was as dignified as ever. Her long white aprons 
were more glossy" and stiffer than of yore ; her handsome 
well-kept hands were surmounted by deeper linen cuffs, 
and her face, with its sad, subdued expression, seemed to 
say that she was enduring the most unmerited suffering. 

Marjolin had left the hospital, as well physically, as ever, 
but he had become nearly an idiot. His fall had affected 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


265 


his brain, and left him an absolute brute. He was like a 
child of five years of age, who had attained a gigantic 
growth. He laughed, found it difficult to pronounce 
certain words, and obeyed Cadine implicitly, except on 
the one point of not going to the Charcuterie. Just as soon 
as Cadine started oft* with her wicker tray to sell her 
violets, he went to the sidewalk in front of the Charcuterie. 

‘^Come in!^^ Lisa would say. 

She often gave him pickled cucumbers, which he adored. 
The sight of La belle Lisa pleased him extremely. 

At first she was afraid that he remembered. She asked 
him if his head ever hurt him. He said: 

No, indeed ! rocking to and fro, in a childish way. 

^^Did you fall?’’ she asked. 

Yes. I fell — fell — fell,” he sang, in a tone of great 
del ight. 

This touched Lisa. She urged Gavard to keep him ; 
and after this interview she was not afraid to caress him, 
by taking him by the chin and calling him a good boy. 
The colossus shut his eyes, with all the enjoyment of an 
animal, and La belle Lisa felt that she owed him this 
happiness as a small compensation for the blow with which 
she had felled him like an ox, in the cellar under the 
market. 

In the meantime, the shop grew duller and more 
sombre. Florent dined there sometimes on Sundays, 
when Quenu would make frantic eftbrts at gayety. 

One night, after one of these uncomfortable entertain- 
ments, he said to Lisa ; 


266 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


What can the matter he ? I am not ill, and yet I have 
a weight on my heart. I am unhappy, but I cannot tell 
why. Our business is prosperous, and everything is going 
smoothly. You too, ma belle,’^ he continued, ‘^are not 
right, either in health or spirits; and I think I shall 
send for a physician 

His wife looked at him gravely. 

There is no need of medicine,” she said ; for there 
seems to be trouble everywhere just now.” 

Then, yielding to a sudden impulse, she said, in a tender 
voice : 

Take care of yourself, dear ; for you must not be ill — 
that would be my crowning affliction.” 

She kept him as much in the kitchen as possible, know- 
ing that the noise of the chopping and the frying pleased 
him, and she could in that way keep him away from 
Mademoiselle Saget, who now passed much of her time in 
the shop. The old woman was doing her best to push 
Lisa to extremities. 

There are wicked people,” she said, wicked people 
indeed! people who had best mind their own business. 
If you knew what they said, Madame Quenu — but no, I 
would never dare tell you.” 

Lisa said that it was of no consequence, that she did 
not care in the least ; and the other whispered over the 
counter ; 

They actually say that Monsieur Florent is not your 
cousin.” 

And by degrees she let Lisa see that she knew all. 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 267 

This was one way of holding Madame Quenu at her 
mercy. 

And when Lisa confessed the truth — feeling it to be the 
wisest policy to hold under her hand, a person who was 
thoroughly au courant with all the gossip of the Quartier, 
the old maid swore she would be as dumb as a fish ; and 
that she would give the denial to all she heard. Then, in 
fact, she enjoyed the drama. She appeared each day with 
new reports : 

You should take precautions,” she said. heard two 
women, at the tripe store, talking. I could not tell, 
of course, that they lied : they would have thought me 
crazy.” 

A few days later she came in, looking as if she were 
frightened out of her senses, and waited until two or three 
persons who were in the shop had left it ; and then, in a 
whisper, she said ; 

I want to tell you that all the men who meet at the 
Cabaret have guns, and they intend to do what was done 
in ^48. Is it not sad to see Monsieur Gavard, rich as he 
is, mixed up with all these scamps ? I wanted to tell you 
on account of your brother-in-law.” 

But there is no truth in it, I know.” 

^^No truth in it? Go out any evening, and pass la Rue 
Pirouette and hear the noise they make. You remember 
how they did their best to lead your husband away. Is 
not that true? And is it not true that I have seen them, 
with my own eyes, making cartridges ? ” 

Yes, certainly ; and I thank you ; only so many 
things are invented now-a-days.” 


268 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


^^But this is not an invention, unfortunately. And 
everybody says, that if the police could get hold of it there 
will be many persons compromised. Now, Monsieur 
Gavard — 

But Lisa shook her head, as if to say that Monsieur 
Gavard was an old idiot, and she did not care what became 
of him. 

I speak of Monsieur Gavard as I would speak of 
others — of your brother-in-law, for example,” answered 
the old woman, slyly. It seems that he is the chief of the 
whole movement. I am very sorry for you ; for if the 
police should come here, they might also take Monsieur 
Quenu. Two brothers, you know, are like two fingers on 
the same hand.” 

La belle Lisa turned very pale, for Mademoiselle Saget 
had touched the open wound of her anxieties, and from 
this time brought a varied collection of anecdotes every 
evening of innocent persons, who were thrown into prison 
for having sheltered rascals, and in the evening regularly 
called at the Cabaret, with the hope of gaining some 
information from Bose, and all the time keeping her eyes 
and ears open. She had noticed the tenderness shown by 
Monsieur Lebigre toward Florent, and his anxiety to keep 
him there, although the small purchases he made could 
have been no advantage to the house. 

‘^One would think,” she said to herself, shrewdly, ^^that 
he expected to sell him ; but to whom, I wonder ? ” 

Nor was she ignorant of the position of the two men 
toward La belle Normande, and this naturally added to her 


269 


^ •- . - OF PARIS. 

surprise. Oue e\ ’’ ui she was standing at the 

counter of the Cat , > eard Logre throw himself 

down in a chair in t!u.: ’oom, and complain of his 

fatigue, saying that L.* h:; ^ an enormous walk in the 

Faubourgs. She look. ! his feet, and saw not one 

grain of dust. She si ;.- y, paid for her liqueur, 

and departed. 

She took up a positi- r, at her own window, to 

complete her observations. This window was very high, 
and overlooked so many of the neighboring houses that it 
was to her the source of infinite joy. She regarded it as 
her observatory. Every article in the rooms opposite she 
could have enumerated. She knew at what hour the people 
rose, and what they had for breakfast, and even the persons 
who came to see them. She could see the Halles, and not 
a woman of the Quartier could pass down la Rue Rambu- 
teau without her knowledge; she could say, moreover, 
where they were going, and what they carried in their bas- 
kets. She knew how they passed each hour o^ the day, the 
number of their children, the amount of money they made 
weekly, and the quality of their dresses hanging in their 
wardrobes. 

That was Madame Loret, who was killing herself to 
educate her son, and this one was Madame Hutin, a poor 
little woman, whose husband neglected her ; and there 
went Mademoiselle C4cile, the butcher’s daughter, whose 
temper was so bad that she would never be married. And 
the old maid could have gone on for an indefinite length 
of time, amusing herself in this way, but after eight o’clock 
17 


270 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


she had eyes only for the windows of the Cabaret, on 
which she could see the shadows of the conspirators. She 
divined the secession of Char vet and Clemence from the 
fact of not seeing their profiles. In this way she was able 
to follow each step of the conspiracy, so acute did she 
become in reading the meaning of each gesture. One 
night she saw Gavard’s pistols, the arms of which she 
had spoken to Madame Quenu. Another night she was 
puzzled at certain movements — and decided they were 
manufacturing the wadding for their guns. 

The next morning she went to the Cabaret, at an early 
hour, and out of the corner of her eye, saw a pile of linen 
with red stains lying on the table in the private room. 
This was truly frightful. 

She hurried to call on Lisa. 

Oh, dear Madame Quenu,” she said. “ I would not 
frighten you, but I am really terrified, and you must swear 
not to repeat what I say to you, for those men would 
certainly kill me if they knew.” 

She then went on to speak of the red linen. 

I don’t know what it meant, but I could swear it was 
blood. Something has happened.” 

Lisa did not reply. She played with a fork she held in 
her hand. 

Mademoiselle Saget added, softly : 

“If I were you, I would certainly find out. Why 
don’t you go and look in your brother-in-law’s room? ” 

Lisa started. The fork fell from her hand. She 
looked the old woman full in the face. Mademoiselle 
Saget continued: 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


271 


You have a right to do it. Your brother-in-law will 
certainly get you into trouble. Now yesterday, at Madame 
Taboureau’s, they were talking about you. She is a great 
friend of yours, you know, and she said that you were 
altogether too kind to this Monsieur Florent, and that she 
would have got rid of him long ago.” 

Madame Taboureau said that ? ” 

Yes, certainly, and you know she is a woman who 
means what she says.” 

Lisa looked with unseeing eyes from the window. 
A frown brought her eyebrows closer together. She was 
thinking. In the meantime the little old maid had her 
nose among the dishes on the counter. She seemed to be 
talking to herself. 

Bless me ! here is a cut sausage. What a pity for it 
to dry up ! And this pudding has burst. It must have 
been pricked by a fork. It ought to be taken away, 
certainly.” 

Lisa mechanically took up the pudding and the sausage, 
put them in paper, saying : 

They are yours if you will have them.” 

In a moment they disappeared into the basket, which 
never left the woman’s arm, who was now so accustomed 
to receiving presents that she forgot to say, Thank you,” 
and hurried away to find her dessert. 

When she was alone, Lisa sat down to think. For a 
week she had been in a state of constant anxiety. One 
evening Florent had told Quenu that he wanted five hun- 
dred francs. He said it easily and naturally. Quenu told 


272 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


him to go to Lisa for the money. This was especially dis- 
agreeable to Florent, whose application was received by his 
sister-in-law with compressed lips. Three days later he 
asked for a thousand more. 

^‘You see I was right,” said Lisa, sarcastically, as she 
was undressing. Your brother is not as disinterested as 
you thought. I must make an entry of this last thousand 
francs.” 

She seated herself at the Secretary, and opened an ac- 
count book. 

^‘1 did well to leave a large space,” she murmured, 
^^He intends to take it all by bits, I see.” 

Quenu did not speak ; he was very much out of temper. 
Each time his wife opened the Secretary, the creak of that 
falling leaf was like a despairing cry in his ears. He 
intended to remonstrate with his brother, and prevent him 
from throwing all his money away on the Mehudens, but 
each time he opened his lips his courage failed him. 

Florent in two days had taken fifteen hundred francs. 
Logre had said that if they had money, things would get 
on much faster, and the next day was overjoyed to find 
that these words carelessly thrown in the air, came down 
transformed into shining gold pieces, which he quickly 
pocketed. 

After this his demands were incessant. One section 
wished to have a place where they could meet in safety ; 
another was compelled to support destitute patriots, and 
there were always purchases of arras to be made. 

Florent was ready to give all he had, and was only 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


273 


restrained by Lisa’s disagreeable manner whenever he 
asked for money, for he felt that the cause was holy. 
Logre was in the best of spirits, and wore rose-colored 
cravats and patent-leather boots, the sight of which 
seemed to have a bad effect on Lacaille’s spirits. 

Three thousand francs in one week ! ” said Lisa to 
Quenu. ‘^What have you to say to that? If he goes 
on in this way he won’t have a sou at the end of four 
months — and poor old Gradelle ! who worked forty years 
for this money ! ” 

It is all your own fault ! ” exclaimed Quenu. Why 
did you tell him anything about the fortune ? ” 

She looked at him gravely. 

“It is his own,” she answered. “He has a perfect 
right to all he asks for. I am ready to give him the 
money. I am only disturbed by the bad use he makes of 
it, and I feel that something must be done.” 

“Do what you please!” muttered Quenu, tortured by 
avarice. “ I won’t interfere with you.” 

lie loved his brother still, but the thought of fifty 
thousand francs melting away in four months disturbed 
him greatly. Lisa, assisted by Mademoiselle Saget, had a 
very clear idea of its destination, and even went so far as 
to tell the little old maid how much Florent had drawn, 
wishing the truth to be circulated in the Quartier. This 
occurred the day before the story of the blood-stained 
linen was brought to her, and which decided her. She 
looked around the shop, which seemed to her very dreary; 
even Mon ton, the cat, had a discontented air. She hastily 


274 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


summoned Augustine to take her place, and went up to 
Florent^s room. 

She started when she opened the door. The purity of 
the white bed was stained by a pile of red sashes which 
streamed down upon the coverlid. On the mantelpiece 
were cockades and epaulettes — scarlet and gold. Flags 
of all colors were hung against the wall. Thanks to her 
investigations of her brother-in-law’s private papers, she 
knew that these were the colors of the different sections. 

The photographs of Auguste and Augustine looked pale 
with fright, amid all these Revolutionary insignia. Lisa 
looked at everything, but touched nothing, holding herself 
aloof as if they were red hot and would burn her. It was 
thus, then, that the money, so hardly and so honestly 
earned, was spent. 

She stood looking out. The glowing flowers on the 
balcony were to her only other cockades, and the bird’s 
song sounded in her ears like the echo of musketry. 

Then, as the idea came to her, that the insurrection 
would burst out to-morrow, she heard the roll of drums 
and the clear notes of the bugle. 

She hurried down-stairs, without a glance at the papers 
on the table ; but she went no further than her own room, 
which she entered. 

At this solemn crisis, Lisa deliberately dressed her hair, 
with all her usual care. Her hands did not tremble, and 
her eyes were fixed. 

As she buttoned the waist of her black silk dress, using 
all the strength in her wrists to bring it together, she 
remembered what the Abbe Roustan had said. 


THE MAKKETS OF PARIS. 


275 


She asked herself the question, and decided that she was 
only doing her duty. And, as she pinned her shawl, she 
felt that she was a thoroughly honest woman. She put a 
thick veil over her hat, and drew on dark gloves. 

Before going out, she locked her Secretary, as if to im- 
part to it a comfortable sense of security that it would not 
soon be again disturbed. 

Quenu was standing at the shop-door in his white apron. 
He was quite surprised to see her go out in this grande 
toilette at ten o’clock in the morning. 

Where on earth are you going?” he asked. 

She invented some story about a shopping-day with 
Madame Taboureau. She added, that as she should pass 
the Gaiety, she would take seats for the evening. Quenu 
ran after her, and told her to be sure and take them in the 
centre of the house. She smilingly assented, and went on 
to the cab-stand, where she took a fiacre, telling the coach- 
man to drive to the Gaiet6 — she feared being followed. 
When she had her tickets, she went to the Palais de Jus- 
tice, where she dismissed the carriage, and went slowly 
through the halls and corridors. 

As she was lost amid the hurry and confusion, she gave 
ten sous to a man, who guided her to the private room of 
the Chief of Police. 

She was received with politeness by a stout, bald per- 
sonage dressed in black. She lifted her veil, and told her 
story frankly, without any concealments. 

The gentleman listened, without interrupting her, and, 
when she had finished, he said, simply: 


276 


THE MAEKETS OF PARIS. 


You are this man’s sister-in-law, are you ? " 

Yes/’ 'answered Lisa, “ we are honest people, and I 
do not wish my husband to be compromised.” 

He shrugged his shoulders and waved his hand as if 
this remark were very foolish. Then, with an air of 
impatience, he said : 

For more than a year I have known all you tell me. 
The man has been denounced again and again 1 You 
understand, that if I have not acted, it is because I prefer 
waiting. We have our reasons. I will show you — ” 

He laid before her a huge pile of papers. She turned 
them over. They were, in fact, the detached pieces of the 
history she had just told. The authorities of Havre, 
Kouen, and Vernon announced Florent’s arrival. Then 
his installation at the Quenu-Gradelles’ was noted, his 
entrance at the Halles, his life, his evenings spent at the 
Cabaret — not an incident was omitted. 

Lisa noticed that the reports were double, as if they 
came from two different sources. 

Then came a heap of anonymous letters, of all forms 
and styles. This was the climax. She recognized the 
fine scrawl of Mademoiselle Saget, denouncing the set of 
men who frequented the club. She saw, too, a large sheet 
of coarse paper with Madame Lecoeur’s hieroglyphics, and 
one shining page, a joint work of La Sarriette and Mon- 
sieur Jules. These last two letters cautioned the govern- 
ment against Gavard. She recognized, also. Mother 
Mehuden’s coarse language, who, in four pages which 
were almost illegible, recounted all the tales which were 
in circulation in regard to Florent. 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 


277 


But she was utterly overwhelmed when she beheld one 
of the printed bills of the house, bearing the words: 

Charcuterie Quenu-Gradelle,^’ on the back of which 
Auguste denounced the man, whom he regarded as the 
obstacle to his marriage. 

She was asked if she recognized any of these hand- 
writings. 

She stammered forth the word, No,” and rose to leave. 
She drew down her veil to conceal her agitation and vague 
bewilderment. Her hands trembled as she drew up her 
shawl. 

The bald man smiled faintly. 

^‘You see, Madame, that you are a little late; but I 
assure you that we shall remember what you have done. 
Tell your husband not to lift a finger. Certain circum- 
stances may occur — ” 

He did not conclude his sentence, but bowed slightly, 
and half rose from his chair. She felt herself dismissed, 
and went away. In the ante-room she saw Logre and 
Monsieur Lebigre, who hastily turned away; but she 
was more disturbed than they. She hurried through the 
corridors, feeling that there was no escape from the police, 
who knew and saw everything. 

She went to the Quai de V Horloge, where she walked 
for some little time, soothed and refreshed by the cool air 
from the Seine. 

She felt most keenly the uselessness of the step she had 
taken ; her husband was in no danger after all. This was 
of course a relief, and yet gave her a certain sense of 


278 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


remorse. She was vexed with these women who had 
placed her in such a ridiculous position. She stood still 
and looked at the Seine. Some coal barges were coming 
toward her, from the end of which men were fishing. 

It was not she, then, who had delivered Florent into 
the hands of the Philistines. The relief she felt at this 
thought astonished her. Would she have committed an 
infamous act in doing so ? 

She hesitated, and wondered if she had been deceived 
by her conscience. The anonymous letters seemed to her 
more atrocious than anything she had ever dreamed of. 
She had gone openly to fulfil what she believed to be her 
duty. She asked herself if the Gradelle money counted 
for anything in her decision. No; she was not avaricious. 
Money had nothing to do with it, and she gradually 
recovered her ease of mind. 

‘‘Did you get the seats?’’ asked Quenu, when she went 
into the house. 

He wished to see the tickets, and explained to her 
precisely where they were, all of which she had ascertained 
before purchasing them. 

This theatre project was devised by her, merely to get 
her husband out of the house while the police made a 
descent on Florent, which she supposed they would do as 
soon as her story was heard. She had intended asking 
him to go to walk in the Bois. They would dine at a 
restaurant, and go from thence to the theatre. On their 
return they would find Florent gone. Now the programme 
was changed, and it was not necessary to go out, until it was 
time for the theatre. 


THE MAEKETS OF PARIS. 


279 


told you it did you good to go out,” said Quenu. 
^^You look as diiFerent as possible. You should take a 
walk every day ! ” 

‘^No,” she answered, coldly, ^^the streets of Paris are 
not good for the health.” 

That evening at the Gaiet4 they played the Grace de 
JDieu, Quenu, in a black coat and pearl-colored gloves, 
studied the programme with great earnestness. Lisa was 
superb, and folded her arms on the red velvet railing. 
Her white gloves were too tight, and her arms bulged 
above them. They were both greatly moved by Marie’s 
misfortunes. The commander was a vile man ; and Pierrot 
made them laugh as soon as he appeared. The Charcutiere 
wept bitterly in the pathetic scenes. The child’s departure, 
the prayer and return of the poor mad girl, brought tears 
to her eyes, which she gently wiped away with her hand- 
kerchief. 

This soir6e was a veritable triumph to her, when, on 
raising her eyes, she beheld La Normande and her mother 
in th^ second gallery. She bridled, sent Quenu for a box 
of caramels, played with her fan — one of mother-of-pearl 
with considerable gilding. 

This was too much for the fish- woman. She dropped 
her head, and seemed to be listening to her mother’s 
whispers. When they met in the vestibule, the two women 
smiled coldly at each other. 

Florenthad dined early that day with Monsieur Lebigrc. 
He was waiting for Logre, who was to present to him an 
old Sergeant, a man whom he was sure to find very useful. 


280 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


and who would assist them in devising the attack against 
the Palais Bourbon and the Hotel de Ville. 

As night came on, a fine rain began to fall, and veiled 
the Halles, while the low, heavy, black clouds seemed to 
rest almost upon the roofs of the houses. Florent was 
saddened by the aspect of things, and by the rush of yellow 
water in the gutters. 

Logre did not bring the Sergeant. Gavard had gone 
to dine with friends at Batignolles. Florent was reduced 
to passing the evening tete-a-t^te with Robine. He was 
early wearied out, and went off to bed ; but when he 
reached his room felt nervous and restless. 

The evening before he had been at the funeral of Mon- 
sieur Valoque, who had died after long and acute suffer- 
ings. He could not forget that narrow coffin, nor poor 
Madame Yaloque’s tears. She had told him that none of 
the expenses of the funeral were paid, and that she had 
not a sou in the house. Florent paid everything, and the 
poor woman looked so utterly heart-broken that, as he left 
the house, he put into her hand twenty francs. 

This death naturally established him in his position as 
Inspector of the markets. He was impatient for the 
insurrection to burst forth that he might throw aside the 
braided cap forever. 

With all these contradictory thoughts and plans surg- 
ing within him, he opened his window and stepped out 
on the balcony. The wind had gone down ; the rain had 
ceased, but there were no stars in the sky. 

Leaning over the railing, Florent said to himself that 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 


281 


sooner or later he should be punished for having accepted 
a position under the Government. It was a blemish on 
his life, and he felt that he had perjured himself by 
serving the Empire, after the oaths he had sworn to him- 
self so many times while in exile. The desire of pleasing 
Lisa, the charitable use of his emoluments, were not 
strong enough arguments to excuse his weakness. His 
sufferings, whatever they might be, he deserved. He 
lived over again the last wretched year ; the persecutions of 
the market-women ; the nausea he had constantly felt from 
the atrocious smells, and the hostility which was rapidly 
growing about him. All these things he accepted as a 
chastisement. He felt a dull conviction that some catas- 
trophe was close at hand, and bowed his head to accept it 
in expiation of his fault. 

The rain of the afternoon had filled the Halles with 
dampness, which brought out all the intolerable smells. 
It seemed to him that from these markets enclosed under 
one roof, rose a thick vapor. The butchers’ and tripe- 
merchants’ stalls sent forth an odor of blood. 

The vegetable and fruit-markets exhaled the acrid 
smell of sour cabbages, rotten apples and decayed vege- 
tables. The butter was rancid, and the fish tainted. At 
his feet was the poultry-market, smelling like a stable. 

He heard a gay laugh, and the sound of a door closing 
noisily. It was Quenu and Lisa coming home from the 
theatre. And Florent started, and with a shiver, went in 
and closed the blinds. 


282 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


CHAPTER YI. 


RING-DOVES AND PIGEONS. 


NE morning at daybreak, Florent forgot his duties 



at the market, and explored each street in the 
vicinity of the Palais Bourbon. He went as far as the 
Esplanade des Invalides, and measured certain distances 
by taking long strides. Then he went to the Quai 
d^Orsay, and leaning over the parapet decided that the 
attack should be simultaneous. The band from Gros- 
Caillou would arrive by the Champ de Mars ; the sections 
from the North of Paris should sweep down by the 
Madeleine; those of the West and South must follow 
the Quais. 

He looked toward the opposite shore with some anxiety: 
the Champs Elys^es and the wide avenues were difficult 
to deal with. He saw, too, that cannon placed there 
would sweep the whole Quais. Then he changed some 
details of his plan, and made several alterations in the 
paper he held in his hand. The real attack should be 
made by la Rue du Bourgogne and la Rue de I’Univer- 
able. The sun now touched his shoulders; and shone on 
the wide sidewalks and gilded the monuments opposite 
him. He saw the battle. He saw men clinging to these 
columns, and then far above, he beheld lean hands flinging 
out the flag to the breeze. He went slowly homeward. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


283 


Suddenly he heard a soft cooing sound, and realized that 
he was in the garden of the Tuileries, and saw the 
turtle-doves sunning themselves (.n the lawn. He leaned 
against a box that held a huge orange tree and looked 
around. The shadow of the large chestnut trees was very 
heavy. The air was sweet with perfume, and made him 
think of Madame Fran9ois. A little girl ran past with 
her hoop, and frightened the turtle-doves. They flew 
away and alighted on the arm of a marble athlete in the 
centre of the green sward, where they pecked and plumed 
themselves. 

As he entered the Halles, he heard the voice of Claude 
Lantier calling to him. 

^^Come with me!” said the painter. am looking 
for that little brute, Marjolin.” 

Florent followed him, merely to get away from himself, 
and to put off as long as possible, his return to his dis- 
tasteful duties at the market. 

Claude said that Marjolin was perfectly happy. He 
was a mere beast, walking on two legs instead of four; 
that was about all the difference. 

‘^He may be stuffing the pigeons,” said Claude. We 
could go and see.” 

They went •into the cellar, in the centre of which two 
fountains were playing. The houses here were devoted 
exclusively to pigeons. Behind the gratings there arose 
a plaintive sound — a perpetual rippling note. 

Claude laughed, and said to his companion : 

should think all the lovers in Paris were in this 
place I ” 


284 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


But as every one of these rooms, or houses, seemed to 
be locked, he came to the conclusion that Marjolin could 
not be in the cellar. Suddenly they heard the sound of 
gentle, continual kissing, and they discovered one door 
that was ajar. They pushed it open and beheld Cadine, 
with Marjolin kneeling in front of her so that his face 
was on a level with her lips. She was kissing him ten- 
derly on his hair, his brow, his eyes — slowly and method- 
ically. He complacently remained just as she placed him, 
and allowed her to do as she pleased. He had no longer a 
will of his own. 

‘^Aren^t you ashamed ?” said Claude. ^^In this dirty 
place, too! 

But,” answered Cadine, with impudent effrontery, he 
is afraid anywhere that is light! Is it not so, dear? 
You are afraid sometimes, are you not?” 

He passed his hands over his face, as if seeking the 
kisses she had left there. He answered, with a vague 
smile, Yes, that he was afraid.” 

came to help him, too,” the girl added. am 
stuffing the pigeons.” 

Florent looked at the poor creatures. All around the 
place on shelves were uncovered boxes, in which pigeons 
were placed close against each other. Every few moments 
a light shiver ran through the moving mass. Cadine had 
a saucepan at her side full of water and grain. She filled 
her mouth, took up the pigeons one by one, opened their 
beaks, and blew this food down their throats ; and they, 
struggling and choking, fell back into their boxes dizzy 
with the food thus swallowed by force. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


285 


^^Poor things!” said Claude. 

‘'They are not poor things, at all. They are very 
comfortable now. In two hours they will be made to 
swallow salted water: this makes them white and tender; 
and two hours after that they are bled. If you would like 
to see that done, you can look at Marjolin, for he has fifty 
to do now.” 

Claude and Florent followed Marjolin. He sat down 
on the ground by the fountain, put the box of pigeons by 
his side, and placed on his knees a tin case with wires 
across set in a wooden frame. He seized the pigeons by 
the wings, and, with a quick blow on the head with the 
handle of the knife, stunned theni, and then inserted the 
point in the throat. The pigeons shivered, and he ar- 
ranged them in rows, the heads between these iron wires, 
over the tin box, into which the blood dropped slowly. 

He did this with the regular movement of a machine at 
first, but by degrees seemed to become excited — his eyes 
glittered and he moved quicker and quicker. He finally 
burst out laughing. 

“Tic-tac, tic-tac, tic-tac,” he sang, accompanying the 
noise made by the knife on the heads of the poor creatures 
with a movement of his tongue. 

“He likes that!” said Cadine. “Pigeons are funny 
when they put their heads down so far between their 
shoulders that we can’t find their necks.” She laughed 
again as she watched Marjolin’s feverish haste. 

“ I have tried, but I can never do it as fast as he. One 
day he bled a hundred in ten minutes.” 

18 


286 


THE MAKKETS OP PARIS. 


Claude, happening to glance at Florent, saw him so pale 
that he hastily led him to the stairs, where he made him 
sit down. 

Well ! well ! he said, who would have thought that 
you could faint like a woman ! ” 

It was the smell,’’ answered Florent, a little ashamed. 
These pigeons, who were made to swallow grain and salt 
water and then bled to death, had reminded him of the 
turtle-doves of the Tuileries, walking in their changeable 
satiny plumage on the turf golden with sunlight. He 
saw them gurgling and cooing on the arm of the antique 
statue in the silent garden, while, in the dark shadow of 
the chestnut trees, the little girl played with her hoop. 

This huge, senseless brute, killing these little creatures, 
had chilled him to the marrow of his bones. 

You will make no kind of a soldier, my boy,” said 
Claude. The people who sent you to Cayenne were 
simple creatures to be afraid of you ! Look out, my dear 
fellow, never to get into any trouble, for if you should fire 
a pistol and happen to kill any one you would faint away !” 

Florent rose, but did not answer. He had become very 
serious, and heavy lines contracted his forehead. He went 
away, leaving Claude to return to the pigeons and Marjolin. 

As he walked through the fish-market, he thought again 
of his plan of attack and of the armed bands which would 
invade the Palais Bourbon. In the Champs Elys^es the 
cannon would reverberate, the windows would be broken, 
there would be blood and brains spattered on the columns. 
A rapid vision passed before his eyes. He passed his 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


287 


hand over them, not daring to look. As he crossed la 
Eue du Pont Neuf, he thought he saw Auguste’s pale face 
in the fruit-market. 

He seemed to be waiting or watching for some one, and 
his eyes were wide open with a wild stare. He suddenly 
turned, and fled in the direction of the Charcuterie. 

‘‘What on earth is the matter?” thought Florent, “he 
behaves as if he were afraid of me.” 

Grave events had taken place that morning at the Quenu- 
Gradelles’. At daybreak Auguste had rushed to the room 
of his employers to tell them that the police had come to 
arrest Florent, and then added, in a confused way, that he 
thought Florent had got away. 

La belle Lisa, in her dressing-gown, ran up-stairs and 
took the photograph of La belle Normande from the drawer 
of her brother-in-law and went down again. On the land- 
ing she met the police agent, who begged to speak to her a 
moment. 

He bade her open her shop as usual, and to say nothing 
to any one. He put his men into possession of Florent’s 
room. Thus was the trap laid and baited. 

Lisa’s only anxiety in this whole afiair was as to how 
Quenu would receive this blow. She feared that he would 
ruin all by his tears if he should discover that the police 
were there ; as yet he had not been disturbed, and she 
prepared a little tale with which to delude him when he 
awoke. 

In another half hour she was at her door, with her hair 
as carefully dressed as usual — accurately dressed and smiles 


288 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


on her rosy face. Auguste was arranging the shop. Quenu 
came out, yawned a little, and shook himself in the fresh 
morning air. Nothing indicated the drama that was in 
preparation. 

But the Commissary himself was the one to awaken 
suspicion in the Quartier by making a domiciliary visit to 
the Mehudens. He was furnished with the most accurate 
information. In the anonymous letters received at the 
Prefecture it was said that La belle Normande was the 
mistress of Florent. She, therefore, had probably sheltered 
and concealed him now. 

The Commissary, accompanied by two men, shook the 
door and demanded admittance in the name of the Law. 
The Mehudens were hardly up. The old woman opened 
the door in a rage, which was suddenly calmed when she 
understood what the demand meant. 

She took a seat, and calmly fastened her clothing, while 
she said : 

You can look where you choose, gentlemen ; we are 
honest people, and have nothing to fear ! ” 

As La Normande did not see fit to open her door, the 
Commissary ordered it to be forced. She was dressing, 
and her shoulders were bare. This brutal entrance ex- 
asperated her. The skirt that she was just throwing over 
her head dropped from her hands, and she rushed forward 
red with anger rather than shame. 

The Commissary, faced by this half-naked woman, ad- 
vanced in front of his men, saying, in a cold, stern voice: 

In the Name of the Law ! In the Name of the Law ! 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


289 


She fell into a chair^ weeping and sobbing. Her hair 
streamed over her shoulders. Her chemise did not reach 
her knees. The men looked away, while the Commissary 
caught up a shawl and threw it over her, but she did not 
notice it. She wept hysterically as she saw these men open 
her wardrobe and look under her bed. 

“What have I done she gasped. “What are you 
looking for here?” 

The Commissary uttered Florent^s name just as Mother 
Mehuden entered the room. 

“Ah ! wretch!” cried her daughter, rushing toward her. 

One of the men caught her and wrapped her in the 
shawl. She struggled, and said : 

“ For what do you take me, then ? This Florent never 
crossed this threshold. Put me in prison, if you choose. 
What do I care for this Florent? I can marry a better 
man than he, any day.” 

This flood of words calmed her. Her fury now turned 
against Florent, who was the cause of this insult. She 
addressed the Commissary, and tried to justify herself. 

“I did not know, sir — he was very quiet and very 
gentle ; and he deceived us all. I did not want to listen 
to the people who abused him. He came to give my little 
boy lessons, for which I tried to pay by an occasional 
present of a fine fish. And this is all.” 

“But where are the papers he gave you to take 
care of?” 

“ Papers I He never gave me any papers. If he had,. 
I would give them to you — I swear I would, rather than 


290 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


see you rummage among all my things in this way. I 
tell you it is not worth while for you to look.” 

The men, having completed their search in her room, 
now opened a door leading to the closet where Much slept. 
In a moment the child was heard crying aloud. Awakened 
from a deep sleep, he apparently thought he was about to 
be murdered. 

La Normande called to him, and he ran to her and clung 
about her neck. She consoled him, and placed him in her 
own bed. The men were about to leave, when the child 
said, in a whisper : 

Don’t let them take my copy-books.” 

To be sure! Your copy-books I” cried La Normande. 

Wait a moment, gentlemen ; I have something for you. 
You will see plenty of his writing, now; and if you wish 
to hang him, do so. I won’t cut the rope.” 

She handed them the copy-books, which utterly infuri- 
ated the child, who began to kick and scratch his mother, 
who was trying to hold him. Finding that he could not 
get away, he began to bellow. 

Mademoiselle Saget stuck in her head — she had come, 
finding the doors all open — saying that she really pitied 
these poor ladies who had no one to defend them. 

In the meantime the Commissary was reading the copies 
set by Florent, with a heavy frown. He gave a little tap 
to the paper. 

This is very serious,” he said, very serious, indeed 1 ” 

He handed the bundle of copy-books to one of his men 
and departed. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


291 


Claire, who had not appeared, now opened her door and 
looked at the men as they went down-stairs. She then 
entered her sister’s room, where she had not been for a 
year. 

Mademoiselle Saget was fluttering about La belle Nor- 
mande, caressing her, and wrapping the shawl more closely 
about her. 

^^You area mean coward!” said Claire, planting herself 
before her sister, who started up, the shawl again falling to 
the floor. 

You were listening, were you? Say that again, if 
you dare ! ” 

You are a mean coward ! ” repeated the girl, in a tone 
that was even more insulting. 

Then La Normande rushed forward and slapped Claire’s 
pale face, who, frail as she was, grasped her sister by the 
throat. They struggled for a moment, tearing out each 
other’s hair. The younger, with superhuman force, pushed 
the other against the wardrobe, the glass of which shivered. 
Much sobbed, and Mother Mehuden shrieked to Made- 
moiselle Saget to separate them ; but Claire shook herself 
free. 

Mean coward that you are ! ” she repeated. I am 
now going to warn the man you have sold ! ” 

Her mother threw herself across the door, and La Nor- 
mande, with the assistance of the little old maid, hustled 
Claire into her room, whose door they locked. There was 
a dead silence, and then a dull, grating sound. 

^^She is trying to take ofi* the hinges with her scissors,” 


292 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 


said La Normande, contemptuously, as she went about 
trying to find her clothes, which had been somewhat 
scattered in the m§l4e. 

*^She would have killed me without any hesitation, 
said La Normande, ** if she could ; and now she must be 
kept in her room, or she will make the most fearful row 
in the Quartier.^^ 

Mademoiselle Saget was naturally in great haste to 
depart. She reached the corner of la Rue Pirouette just 
as the Commissary and his men went into the charcuterie. 
She followed in such a state of excitement that Lisa made 
a sign to her to be quiet, with a glance at Quenu. When 
he went into the kitchen, the old maid told what had 
taken place at the Mehudens^ Lisa listened with an air 
of triumph ; but when a customer asked for two pigs’ feet, 
she wrapped them up thoughtfully, as she said : 

Look here : to show you that I have no enmity against 
LaNormande, you may tell her that I have saved this 
from the police, and am ready to give it back to her, if she 
comes and asks me for it.” 

She took the photograph from her pocket. Mademoi- 
selle Saget looked at it, and read aloud : 

Louise to her good friend Florent.” 

Then in a significant tone she said: 

You make a mistake. You should keep this.” 

No,” answered Lisa ; “ I wish this affair to be ended, 
once for all. To-day is the day for a reconciliation, and 
after tliis I hope the Quartier will settle down.” 

Do you want me to tell La belle Normande that you 
would like to see her ? ” 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 


293 


^‘Yes; if you would be so kind.’^ 

Mademoiselle Saget returned to la Kue Pirouette, and 
frightened the fish-woman out of her senses by telling her 
that her picture was in Lisa^s pocket. But she could not 
at once decide to make the concession demanded by her 
rival. She, too, had her conditions to make. She would 
go, if the Charcuti^re would come to the door to receive 
her. The old maid was obliged to make two more 
trips between the rivals in order to make the arrangement 
satisfactory to both parties. Mademoiselle Saget was 
quite willing to take this trouble, as she was to be 
credited with the reconciliation which would, of course, 
cause such excitement in the Quartier. As she passed 
Claire^s door she still heard the noise of the scissors. 

As soon as these points were settled, she went off in a 
hurry to get Madame Lecoeur and La Sarriette. They 
established themselves nearly opposite the Cliarcuterie, 
where they could see the entire interview. The three 
women became very impatient as they waited there. The 
story had got abroad in the Halles, and every one was on 
the qui vive; while all eyes were turned toward the shop 
of the Quenu-Gradelles ; and when La Normande ap- 
peared, they held their breath. 

Look at her ear-rings,” said La Sarriette. 

Just see how she walks,” exclaimed Madame Lecoeur. 
^Ht is for all the world like a peacock.” 

La belle Normande, in fact, held herself like a queen 
who condescends to sign a treaty of peace. She had made 
a most careful toilette, and had turned up a corner of her 


294 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


crisp white apron to show her black cashmere skirt. At 
her throat was a gorgeous tie of lace. 

As she felt that the whole Halles were looking at her, 
she carried her head still higher. She stopped at the door 
of the Charcuterie. 

Now it is the turn of La belle Lisa,” said Mademoi- 
selle Saget. 

Lisa left her counter with smiling grace. She crossed 
her shop with a leisurely step, and extended her hand to 
La belle Normande. She was carefully dressed : her 
collar, apron and cuffs of immaculate purity. 

The two women disappeared within the shop, and the 
spectators could exchange remarks, as it was no use to try 
and hear. 

‘^She is buying something,” said Mademoiselle Saget. 

La belle Normande is certainly buying something — and 
look ! Lisa is giving her the photograph ! ” 

Then followed more salutations, and La belle Lisa 
accompanied her fair rival to the very sidewalk. There 
they stood and talked for a good five minutes for the 
edification of the Quartier, who felt that the quarrel was 
happily concluded. But Mademoiselle Saget would not 
allow her two companions to leave her. The crowning 
act of the drama was near at hand. 

*^And now La belle Normande has no lover,” said 
Madame Lecoeur. 

^^She has, Monsieur Lebigre,” remarked La Sarriette, 
laughing. 

Oh ! Monsieur Lebigre ; he won’t have her now I ” 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 295 

Mademoiselle Saget shrugged her shoulders, mur- 
muring : 

You know nothing about it. He won’t trouble him- 
self much about this affair. La Normande is rich, and in 
two months they will be man and wife. You will see. 
Mother Mehuden has done her best to bring this mar- 
riage about for a long time.” 

‘‘But,” said Madame Lecoeur, “after all, there has 
nothing wrong been found out. Florent was not in her 
room.” 

“ Not then,” answered the old maid, significantly, “ but 
that does not prove that he has not been there. I believe 
myself that he had just gone. The worst of the whole 
thing was,” she continued, “ the horrible things these men 
said before little Much. Now I don’t mean that the 
child amounts to much, but that is no reason why the 
police should be allowed to frighten him out of his senses. 
But look ! there is poor Monsieur Quenu, and he is 
laughing ! ” 

Quenu, in fact, was standing on the sidewalk in his 
white apron, talking with Madame Taboureau’s little ser- 
vant. He was in the best of spirits that morning, and 
Lisa had the greatest difficulty in the world in keeping 
him in the kitchen. She walked up and down the shop 
impatiently, fearing that Florent would come in, and that 
her husband would be there. 

“ She is in a fever ! ” said Mademoiselle Saget. “ Her 
poor husband knows nothing about it all. Just see him 
laugh, now! You know that Madame Taboureau said 


296 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


she should quarrel with the Quenus if they were so weak- 
minded as to keep Florent with them any longer.” 

^‘And in the meantime they have all the money,” said 
Madame Lecoeur. 

By no means, my dear ; he has had his share.” 

Is that really so ? Do you know it ? ” 

I know it,” answered the old maid ; but she did not 
say how. He has even had more than he is entitled to. 
Ah ! a profligate man makes the money fly ! And then, 
you know, there is another woman — ” 

I did not know it,” answered La Sarriette, but I am 
not surprised.” 

"Yes; the wife of the former Inspector, Madame 
Yaloque.” 

The others exclaimed at this; Madame Yaloque was so 
ugly. 

"But I know it,” continued Mademoiselle Saget. 
"There are proofs — piles of letters from that woman, 
letters asking him for money — and I believe that they 
two killed the husband.” 

La Sarriette and Madame Lecoeur were convinced, of 
course, but they were tired of waiting. They said to each 
other that their stalls were left alone, and were probably 
robbed by this time, but Mademoiselle Saget begged them 
to stay a moment longer, all the time keeping her own 
eyes riveted on the house, whose front was bathed in the 
morning sun. 

" Who would think that it was full of police ? ” mur- 
mured Madame Lecoeur. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


297 


They are in the attic. Look ! I can see one now 
behind those plants on the terrace.’^ 

The others extended their necks, but could see nothing. 

No, I was mistaken. It was a shadow,” explained 
La Sarriette. They must be sitting still in the room.” 

At this moment they saw Gavard come out of the fish- 
market, with a preoccupied air. He was coming toward 
them. 

Have you seen Florent ? ” he asked, as he reached 
them. 

They did not reply. 

1 want to see him at once,” continued Gavard. He 
is not in the fish-market. Has he gone in ? ” 

The three women were all unnaturally pale, and their 
lips trembled. 

Madame Lecoeur was the first to speak ; 

We have been here only a few moments,” she said. 
“He may have gone in.” 

“Then I will undertake those five flights of stairs,” 
answered Gavard, laughing. 

La Sarriette opened her lips as if to warn him, but her 
Aunt held her arm tightly. 

“Let him go!” she whispered, “and he may, perhaps, 
learn not to walk over us another time.” 

La Sarriette stood still, with a flushed face, but the 
others were yellow-white. They looked at the house as 
if they could see Gavard through the stones as he ascended 
the stairs. 

La Sarriette uttered a nervous little laugh when she 


298 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


thought her Uncle had had time to reach Florent’s room. 
They fancied that they saw the curtains move. Fifteen 
minutes elapsed and all was quiet. Then a man came out 
of the alley and went for a fiacre. In another five minutes 
Gavard came down with two men. 

Gavard was very pale. He had been searched and his 
pistol and box of cartridges taken from him. He thought 
himself lost, and was surprised that the idea of this de- 
nouement had never entered his head. The Tuileries 
would never forgive him. His limbs felt strangely weak, 
but he held himself straight, determined that the Halles 
should see that he died bravely. 

Madame Lecoeur and La Sarriette rushed to his side, 
and begged for an explanation. He took his niece in his 
arms, and, as he kissed her, murmured in her ear, as he 
gave her a key : “ Burn all my papers.” 

He entered the fiacre with the air of a man ascending 
the scaffold. 

When the carriage disappeared around the corner, 
Madame Lecoeur saw her niece trying to hide the key. 

" You need not take so much trouble,” she said, between 
her teeth, “ I saw him put it in your hand. As true as 
there is a God in Heaven, I will go before the Prefect 
and declare the truth unless you share with me.” 

But, my dear Aunt,” answered La Sarriette, with an 
embarrassed smile, ‘Get us go at once, before those thieves 
get there.” 

Mademoiselle Saget, who had heard all this, followed 
their fleet steps as quickly as she could. As they neared 


THE MARKETS OF PARTS. 


299 


Gavard’s home she offered to go on and explain to Madame 
L^once the reason of their coming. 

“ We will see to it ourselves/’ said Madame Lecoeur, 
stiffly. 

The housekeeper was by no means willing to show these 
ladies up-stairs. She looked austerely at La Sarriette’s 
untidy fichu. But when Mademoiselle Saget said a few 
words in a low voice, and showed her the key, she yielded. 

‘‘Take everything,” she said, throwing herself into a 
chair, as if abandoning all hope. 

La Sarriette tried the key in all the wardrobes, while 
Madame Lecoeur watched her closely, and stood so near 
to her that finally she exclaimed : 

“ Please stand a little farther off. Aunt ; I can’t use my 
arms.” 

At last a wardrobe opposite the window was opened. 
The four women uttered a simultaneous exclamation. 
On the centre shelf were ten thousand francs, in method- 
ical little piles. Gavard, whose property was prudently 
deposited in the hands of a notary, kept this sura in 
reserve, ready for an emergency. He looked on them as 
aid to the insurrection, and dreamed at night that a battle 
was going on within his wardrobe. He heard the beat of 
drums, the rattling of musketry and triumphant shouts — 
it was his money which did all this. 

La Sarriette uttered a little shriek of joy, and extended 
her hands. 

“Paws off! my dear,” exclaimed Madame Lecoeur, in a 
hoarse voice. 


300 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


The woman was slowly dying of an affection of the 
liver, but her skin turned yellower than ever, and seemed 
to reflect the gold which lay before her. Peering over her 
shoulder was Mademoiselle Saget, standing on the points 
of her toes in an ecstasy of delight. 

^^My Uncle told me to take everything,” said La 
Sarriette. 

‘‘And am I, who have watched over him in sickness and 
in health, to have nothing?” asked the housekeeper. 

Madame Lecoeur pushed them all away and planting 
herself before the wardrobe she said : 

“ I am his nearest relative, and you are robbers ! all of 
you ! ” she added, with some violence. 

There was a long and profound silence. The four 
women looked at each other. La Sarriette, palpitating 
with life, youth, and hope, offered a strange contrast to the 
other women. 

“But,” continued Madame Lecoeur, “we do not wish to 
quarrel about it. You are his niece — his only niece — 
and we will divide. We will each of us take a pile in 
turn.” 

She bade the other two step back, and she began. She 
took one pile which disappeared among her skirts. Then 
La Sarriette did the same. Then the two hands laid side 
by side on the shelf — one with horrible, distorted fingers, 
the other white, delicate and supple as silk. 

There was one pile left, which the Aunt claimed ; but 
La Sarriette disputed this, as it was her Aunt who com^ 
menced the division, and she divided it between Madame 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 


301 


lidonce, who had seen them pocket the gold with gasps of 
horror, and Mademoiselle Saget. 

Bless my soul said the housekeeper, fifty francs 
for taking care of that old man all this time] He said he 
had no family, the old cheat 

Madame Lecoeur, before elosing the wardrobe, wished to 
search it thoroughly. It contained all the political books 
which were not allowed to cross the frontiers : pamphlets 
from Brussels; scandalous tales of the Bonapartcs; and 
caricatures of the Emperor, One of Gavard’s greatest 
delights had been to shut himself up, and show a friend 
these compromising papers. 

^^He begged us to burn these papers,” said La Sarriette. 

Nonsense] There is no fire, and we had best be off.” 

Hardly had tliey reached the foot of the stairs than the 
police appeared. Madame L6once went back to show 
them to Gavard^s rooms. The others pursued their way, 
the aunt and niece somewhat incommoded by the weight 
of their full pockets, but enjoying them all the same. 

Mademoiselle Saget held her fifty francs tight in her 
hand, all the time revolving a plan for obtaining some- 
thing more from out those full pockets. 

There is Florent ! ” she exclaimed, as they neared the 
fish-market. 

Florent it was, indeed. He was going to his office to 
change his coat, having completed his daily task. It 
seemed to him that people looked at him strangely. He 
wondered if there were any new trouble in store for him., 
19 


302 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


But, as he passed the Mehudens’ stall, he was surprised to 
hear the old woman say, in a gentle voice : 

Monsieur Florent, there was a gentleman looking for 
you. I think he has gone tovyour room, to wait for you 
there.’^ 

The old fish-woman, sitting in her stall, enjoyed, as she 
uttered these ^vords, a refinement of vengeance which 
shook her enormous frame with joy. Florent looked 
questioningly at La belle Normande, who, now on the best 
of terms with her mother, was bustling about, and pre- 
tended not to hear. 

You are sure?” he asked. 

Oh ! certainly. One couldn^t be surer ! ” she answered, 
in a sharp voice. 

Florent thought that this gentleman had come in rela- 
tion to the great aifair. 

He was about leaving the market when, as he turned, 
he caught sight of La belle Normande, who was watching 
him with a very grave face. He passed the three women. 

^^You notice,” murmured Mademoiselle Saget, ‘^that 
there is no one in the shop. La belle Lisa is not the 
woman to compromise herself.” 

It was true: the Charcuterie was empty. The house 
lay basking in the sunlight with a comfortable soi‘t of air. 
The flowers were blooming gayly, high up on the balcony, 
and as Florent crossed the sidewalk he nodded to Loj^re 
and to Monsieur Lebigre, who were standing at the door 
of the wine-shop. 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


303 


These gentlemen smiled in a friendly sort of way. He 
was about to enter the narrow alley when he perceived 
Auguste^s pale face flash through the darkness. He 
turned back and looked into the shop, but saw only 
Monton, who glared at him out of his large yellow eyes ; 
his whiskers had a fiercer aspect than usual. 

When he finally entered the alley, he saw La belle Lisa 
watching him from behind the curtain of a glass-door. 
Profound silence reigned in the fish-market; every eye 
was fixed on that house. 

Suddenly a laugh ran around the Halles. Mother 
Mehuden’s story of the gentleman waiting to see Florent 
struck them as a capital joke. At last the skeleton ” — 
Mother Mehuden’s favorite name for the Inspector — was 
caught, and they wished him hon voyage^ hoping devoutly 
that his successor was better-looking. 

La belle Normande looked on at this joy, and had great 
difficulty in restraining her tears. 

Meanwhile Florent had gone up to his room, where he 
allowed himself to be taken without the smallest resist- 
ance, which he saw would be utterly useless. He took a 
chair and looked at the men, as they turned over the 
papers and opened all the packages of scarfs and badges. 
This denouement was, after all, no surprise to him, and 
was, in fact, rather a relief, although he would not have 
confessed even to himself that such was the case. His 
keenest sufferings were caused by the remembrance of the 
hatred which had pushed him into this room. He 


304 


THE MAEKETS OF PAEIS. 


recalled Auguste’s pale face, and the whispers of the fish- 
women ; he remembered Mother Mehuden’s words ; the 
silence of La Normande, and the vacant shop ; and said 
to himself, that all these people were accomplices, and 
that the Quartier had delivered him up. 

Among this crowd of faces, which he saw as he sat 
with his hands pressed over his eyes, suddenly aj^peared 
Quenu’s pale face. He was cut to the heart. 

Come on ! ” said the police agent, roughly. 

He rose and went down with the men. On the next 
floor he asked to be allowed to go back for something he 
had forgotten, but the man pushed him on. He offered 
them money even, and finally two agreed to go back with 
him, swearing they would break his head if he played 
them any trick. They took their revolvers from their 
pockets. He returned to his room, went to the cage, and 
took out the bird, kissed it on its glossy head, and let it 
fly. He watched as it lighted on the roof of the fish- 
market, and then was off again, disappearing over the 
Halles. 

Pie looked out toward the sky, and thought of the 
doves in the garden of the Tuileries, and then of the 
pigeons quivering in Marjolin’s hands. He bowed his 
head and followed the men, who shrugged their shoulders, 
and put their revolvers in their pockets. 

At the foot of the stairs Florent stopped before the 
door which opened on the kitchen of the Charcuterie. 
The Commissary, who was waiting there, was touched by 
his submissiveness, and said; 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


305 


Do you wish to bid your brother good-bye ? ” 

He hesitated a moment. He looked at the door, from 
behind which came a deafening noise of choppers and 
mallets. 

Lisa, to occupy her husband, had suggested making the 
pudding, which was usually done in the evening. Onions 
were frying on the fire. Florent heard Quenu say: 

Zounds ! this pudding will be good ! 

Florent thanked the Commissary, but was afraid to go 
into that hot kitchen, full of the smell of cooking. He 
passed the door, strong in the belief that his brother 
knew nothing, and hastening his steps to avoid giving 
him an additional sorrow. As he entered the fiacre, he 
felt ashamed to know that all the fish-women were tri- 
umphing over him. 

How guilty he looks ! ” whispered Madame Lecoeur. 

Yes,” added Mademoiselle Saget ; he has the air of 
a convict ! ” 

once saw a man guillotined,” murmured La Sar- 
riette, who had just that expression.” 

They stretched out their necks to look into the fiacre. 

Just at it drove off, the old maid pulled the skirts of 
her companions to call their attention to Claire, who was 
running toward them with flying hair and bleeding 
hands. 

She had torn open her door. When she understood 
that she was too late, she shook her fist at the fiacre with 
im])otent rage, then rushed away as swiftly as she had 


306 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


come, the plaster rising in fine clouds from her garments 
as she moved. 

He must have promised to marry her,” cried La Sar- 
riette, laughing. 

The Quartier now calmed down, though groups still 
passed the windows of the Charcuterie, looking in curiously. 
Lisa did not appear at the counter. She left Augustine 
to attend to all the duties there. She intended to tell all 
to Quenu that afternoon, lest some chatterbox should dis- 
close the truth too abruptly. She wanted to be alone with 
him in the kitchen, knowing that he would burst into 
tears and make a terrible scene. 

She, therefore, proceeded with much care; but, as soon 
as he understood it, he dropped upon the chopping-block 
and sobbed like a child. 

Poor, dear boy ! ” said Lisa, smoothing his arm, “ you 
must not go on like this; you will hurt yourself.” 

His sobs subsided, and, when he could speak, he said : 

‘‘You can never knowhow good he was to me when we 
were living in la Rue Royer-Collard. He did everything 
there — he swept and cooked. He loved me as if I were 
his own child. He worked like a dog, and came home 
tired to death, and I had all I wanted to eat and was 
warm and lazy. And now they will shoot him ! ” 

Lisa exclaimed at this, and told him that Florent would 
not be shot — that was ridiculous. 

He shook his head, and continued: 

“No, I never loved him half enough. I was selfish 
and mean, and I wanted to keep his money — ” 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


307 


“ But I offered it to him twenty times,” she interrupted, 
have nothing to reproach ourselves with.” 

I know that you have always been goodness itself to 
him, but I have been selfish, and I believe if I had shared 
everything with him, that he would not have turned out 
badly a second time. It is all my own fault!” 

She was very gentle with him. She even expressed 
sympathy for Florent. He was guilty, certainly, and if 
he had had more money he might not have committed so 
many follies; and, by degrees, she hazarded the opinion 
that perhaps it was better as it was. 

Quenu wiped his eyes and ceased sobbing, that he 
might hear what she said, and at last put his hand 
mechanically on his chopping-knife. 

^‘You have not been well,” said Lisa, ^^nor have I, 
and I was really very anxious about you. And the shop, 
too, has been a very different place.” 

^‘Yes, indeed,” sobbed Quenu. 

‘^And you must remember,” added Lisa, ^Qhat you 
have a wife and a cliild to think of. You have duties tq 
fulfil toward us.” 

He smiled faintly — Lisa had done wonders. She called 
Pauline, who was playing in the shop, placed her on her 
father’s knees, and said : 

“ Pauline, ask your father to be good, and not make us 
miserable.” 

The child did as she was told. The two looked at each 
other and then at their child, and they smiled, with a sense 


308 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS* 


of relief that they were once more by themselves, while 
the Charciitiere repeated two or three times : 

There are only three of ns, dear;, only three of ns” 
Two months later, Florent was condemned again ta 
exile. The affair made a great noise. The journals got 
hold of all the details,, gave portraits of the accused, and 
drawings of the' scarfs and rosettes, and the names of the 
places where the bands were to- meet* 

All Paris discoursed for a week on the ^ Conspiracy of 
the Halles.” The police looked the personification of 
mystery and importance*. It was generally believed that 
the whole of the Qnartier was undermined* At the Corps^ 
Legislatif the excitement was- sg> great that the Centre and 
the Right forgot the untoward law of endowment which 
had momentarily divided them, and became reconciled,, 
voting,, by an overpowering majority, for the imposition- 
of an un}X)pnlar tax,, of which the Faubourgs dared not 
complain^ so- great was the panic in the city. 

Florent was considerably amazed at the- exaggerated 
number of accomplices which were given to hin>, and the- 
trial lasted a week. Logre 'w'as aequitted, as was Lacaille* 
Alexandre was given two years in prison, and Gavard,, 
Ike Florent, was condemned to transportation. This was 
a terrible blow to the old man, who vms thus made to pay 
dearly,, for what he regarded more as a frolic than anything: 
else, and the tears streamed down the frightened face of 
this white-haired gamin. 

One nioniing in August,, just as the markets were 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


309 


beginning to be astir, Claude Lantier went to Madame 
Frangois, who sat with a sad face among her vegetables. 
The painter was very quiet, notwithstanding the golden 
sun that lay on the green velvet of the cabbages by her 
side. 

‘‘Well!” he said, “it is all over. They are sending 
him away. He is far on his way to Brest by this time.” 

The market-woman made a gesture of profound despair. 
She waved her hands and said: 

“It is Paris — this horrible Paris!” 

“No, Madame,” answered Claude, “it is all these 
wretched people. You have no idea of the falsehoods 
they told in court, nor of the follies they committed. 
Will you believe that they even brought forward the 
child’s writing-books?” 

Claude clenched his fists. He was seized with a nervous 
shiver and pulled his coat up. 

“Never was there a more gentle soul,” he said. “I 
once saw him turn pale at seeing a pigeon killed. I abso- 
lutely laughed with pity when I saw him between the two 
gendarmes. I loved him because he was good and honor- 
able. We shall never see him again!” 

“ He ought to have listened to me,” said the market- 
woman. “He should have come to Nanterre and lived 
there with me and my rabbits. He liked me and I loved 
him because I knew that I could trust him. Ah, me ! 
Come and see me some morning, Monsieur Claude. I 
will make an omelette for you. It is a pity, and he might 
have been so happy ! ” 


310 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


Tears filled her eyes. She rose to her feet, with the 
air of a woman who is determined to shake off all her 
troubles. 

“Here comes Mother Chantemesse after her turnips,” 
she said. 

Claude sauntered off. The markets were beginning to 
look very gay. He saw La Sarriette, with a gold watch 
stuck in her belt, busy with her prunes and strawberries, 
stopping from time to time to pull the -whiskers of her 
friend Jules, who wore a new short velvet coat. He saw 
Madame Lecoeur and Mademoiselle Saget — less yellow 
than they used to be — laughing immoderately at some 
story the old maid was telling. 

In the fish-market. Mother Mehuden, who had resumed 
her stall, reigned triumphant over the new Inspector, a 
very young man ; while Claire languidly placed in her 
tank a quantity of shining whitings. 

At the tripe-stall Auguste and Augustine were whis- 
pering over the pigs^ feet they were buying, with that 
unmistakable air of newly-married people. 

As he walked past the Charcuterie, Much and Pauline 
f were playing horse in front of the shop door. ‘ Much 
was on all-fours, while Pauline, seated on his back, 
clutched at his hair to preserve her balance. On the roof 
of the Halles he saw two shadows: they were those of 
Cadine and Marjolin kissing each other. 

Claude said to himself, with a sardonic smile, tliat it was 
the old story — the Fat people had, as usual, triumphed ; 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 


311 


here they all were, hearty and well, and Florent pushed to 
the wall. 

As he stood facing la Rue Pirouette, the spectacle 
on his right and his left, put the finishing touch to his 
exasperation. 

On the right side of the street. La belle Normande, or, 
as she was now called. La belle Madame Lebigre, stood at 
the door of her shop. Her husband had obtained per- 
mission to add to his wine-shop, a counter for the sale of 
tobacco. This had been a favorite dream of his, now 
gratified for sundry mysterious services rendered. Madame 
Lebigre was really superb, in her silk dress and crimped 
hair, arrayed in all this glory to take her seat at the 
counter, where the gentlemen of the Quartier, came to 
buy their cigars and packages of tobacco. She looked 
quite the lady, and everything was new and shining about 
her. 

Opposite, La belle Lisa occupied the entire width of her 
door. ^Never had her linen been so immaculate ; never 
had her face worn a more peaceful aspect, framed as it was 
by her shining hair. She seemed to be too tranquilly 
happy even to smile. 

She was the personification of absolute contentment; 
her dimpled hands were half hidden in her apron ; they 
were not even extended to receive the happiness of the day, 
so sure was she that it would come to her. 

The shop, too, had resumed its former air of gayety. 
The tongues and the sausages no longer had that discon- 
solate air which so disturbed Quenu. 


312 


THE MARKETS OP PARIS. 


From the kitchen came a gay, resounding laugh, accom- 
panied by a rattling of saucepans; and all about the shop 
indicated that the unfortunate episode of Florent’s sojourn 
was totally forgotten. The two women leaned forward, 
and exchanged a cordial greeting; and Claude, who 
perhaps had not dined the previous evening, was filled 
with rage at seeing them so prosperous and comfortable. 
He drew his belt tighter and said, angrily; 

What scoundrels honest men can be!^^ 


FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS, AND PUBLISHED BY 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, PHILADELPHIA. 


L’ASSOMMOIS. A Novel. By Emile ZoIoLj author of “The Rougon-Macquart 
Family,” “Helene,” etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1,00 in cloth. 

THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY; or, LA FORTUNE DES ROUGON. By 
Emile Zola, author of “ L’Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

HELENE, A LOVE EPISODE; or, UNE PAGE D’AMOUR. By Emile Zola, 
author of “ L’Assommoir,” etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 iu cloth. 

THE ABBE’S TEMPTATION; or, LA FAUTE DE L’ABBE MOURET. By Emile 
Zola, author of “ L’Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth, 

UNDER THE WILLOWS; or, THE THREE COUNTESSES. By Elizabeth Van 
Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won,” “Shadow of Hampton Mead.” Cloth, $1.50. 

MARKOF, THE RUSSIAN VIOLINIST. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville, 
author of “ Dosia.” One large volume, cloth, price $1.50, or 75 cents in paper cover. 

MAJOR JONES’S COURTSHIP. Author’s New Edition. By Major Joseph Jones, 
of Pineville, Georgia. With 31 Illustrations by Darley and Cary. Price 75 cents. 

A HEART TWICE WON ; or, SECOND LOVE. A Love Story. By Mrs. Elizabeth 
Van Loon, author of “The Shadow of Hampton Mead.” Cloth, price $1.50. 

THE SHADOW OF HAMPTON MEAD. A Charming Story. By 3Irs. Elizabeth 
Fan Zoow, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth, black and gold. Price $1.50. 

DOSIA. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville, author of “ Marrying Off a Daughter,” 
* Saveli’s Expiation,” and “ Gabrielle.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

MAJOR JONES’S SCENES IN GEORGIA. With Full Page Illustrations, from 
Original Designs by Darley. Morocco cloth, gilt and black. Price $1.50. 

THE LAST ATHENIAN. By Victor Rydberg. This is one of the most remarkable 
books ever published. One volume, 12mo., 600 pages, cloth, price $1.75. 

MARRYING OFF A DAUGHTER. A Love Story. By Henry Greville, author of 
“ Dosia,” “ Saveli’s Expiation,” and “ Markof.” Price 75 cts. in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

PHILOMENE’S MARRIAGES. With Author’s Preface. By Henry Greville, 
author of “ Dosia.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

PRETTY LITTLE COUNTESS ZINA. By Henry Greville, author of “Dosia,” 
“Saveli’s Expiation,” and “ Markof.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

THE COUNT DE CAMORS. The Man of the Second Empire. By Octave Feuillct, 
author of “ The Amours of Phillippe.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

THE SWAMP DOCTOR’S ADVENTURES IN THE SOUTH-WEST. With Fourteen 
Illustrations, from Designs by Darley. Morocco cloth, gilt and black. Price $1.50. 

COLONEL THORPE’S SCENES IN ARKANSAW. With Sixteen Illustrations, 
from Original Designs by Darley. Morocco cloth, gilt and black. Price $1.50. 

HIGH LIFE IN NEW YORK. By Jonathan Slick. Illustrated. Price $1.50. 

RANCY COTTEM’S COURTSHIP. By author “ Major Jones’s Courtship.” 50 cts. 

JARL’S DAUGHTER. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. Paper, price 25 cents. 

LINDSAY’S LUCK. By 3Irs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. Paper, price 25 cents. 

^^Ahcrve Books are far sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies of any 
me or all of them, will he sent to any one, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


NEW BOOKS By THE BEST AUTHORS. 


Price 50 Cents each in paper cover, or $1.00 each in cloth. 


BONNE-MAEIE. A Love Story. By Uenry Greville, author of “ Dosia,” “ Marrying 
Oflf a Daughter,” “ Saveli’s Expiation,” “ Markof,” and “ Gabrielle.” 

MISS MARGERY’S ROSES. A Charming Love Story. By Robert C. Meyers, 
LOURNOF. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville, author of “Dosia,” “Sav61i’s 
Expiation,” “ Bocne-Marie,” and “ Marrying Oflf a Daughter.” 

“ THEO.” A Love Story. By Mrs, Burnett, author of “ Kathleen.” 

KATHLEEN. A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, author of “ Theo,” 
“ Pretty Polly Pemberton,” “ Miss Crespigny,” “A Quiet Life,” etc. 

MISS CRESPIGNY. A Love Story. By 3Irs. Burnett, author of “ Theo.” 

SONIA. A Russian Love Story. By Henry Greville, author of “ Marrying Oflf a 
Daughter,” “ Dosia,” “ Markof,” etc. Translated by Mary Neal Sherwood, 

A QUIET LIFE. By 3Irs, Burnett, author of “ Kathleen,” and “ Theo.” 

A FRIEND ; or, L’AMIE. By Henry Greville, author of “ Sonia,” “ Saveli’s Expia- 
tion,” “ Markof,” and “Marrying Ofi’a Daughter.” 

PRETTY POLLY PEMBERTON. A Love Story. By Mrs. BurneU, 

A WOMAN’S MISTAKE; or, JACQUES DE TREVANNES. A Charming Love 
Story. By Madame Anglic Dussaud. Translated by Mary Neal Sherwood, 
SYBIL BROTHERTON. A Novel, By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. 

FATHER TOM AND THE POPE; or, A NIGHT AT THE VATICAN. With Ulus. 

trations of the scenes that took place between the Pope and Father Tom. 
MADELEINE. A Love Story. By Jules Sandeau. Crowned by French Academy. 
SAVELI’S EXPIATION. By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia.” A dramatic and 
powerful novel of Russian life. Translated by Mary Neal Sherwood, 

TWO WAYS TO MATRIMONY ; or, IS IT LOVE % or, FALSE PRIDE. 
GABRIELLE; or, THE HOUSE OF MAUREZE. Translated from the French of 
Henry Greville, author of “Sav41i’s Expiation,” “ Markof,” “Sonia,” “Dosia.” 
STORY OF “ ELIZABETH.” By Miss Thackeray, daughter of W. M. Thackeray. 
THE DAYS OF MADAME POMPADOUR ; or, MADAME POMPADOUR’S GARTER. 

A Romance of the Reign of Louis XV. By Gabrielle Si. Andre. 

CARMEN. By Prosper Merimee, From which opera of ^‘Carmen” was dramatized. 
THE MATCHMAKER. A Charming Novel. By Beatrice Reynolds. All the char- 
acters and scenes in it, have all the freshness of life, and vitality of truth. 

THE RED HILL TRAGEDY. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth, 

THE AMOURS OF PHILLIPPE. “ Phii.lippe’s Love Affairs.” By FeuUlet, 
FANCHON, THE CRICKET ; or, LA PETITE FADETTE. By George Sand. 
BESSIE’S SIX LOVERS, A Charming Love Story, of the purest and best kind. 
THAT GIRL OF MINE. A Love Story. By the author of “T’Aai Lover of Mzne.” 
THAT LOVER OF MINE. By the author of Girl of MineJ* 

Above are 50 Cents each in paper cover, or $1.00 each in cloth. 

Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies of any 
or all of them, will he sent to any one, post-paid, on remitting price to the publishers, 

T. B. PETEBSOX & BROTHERS, Pliiladelpliia, Pa. 


PETERSONS’ “DOLLAR SERIES” 

OF GOOD NOVELS, ABE THE BEST, LABGEST, 
AND CHEAPEST BOOHS IN THE WOBLD. 

T*Hce One JDollar Each, in Cloth, Black and GohU 

k WOMAN’S THOUGHTS ABOUT WOMEN. By Miss MulocL 
THE LOVEB’S TEIALS. By Mrs. Mary A. Denison. 

THE PEIDE OF LIFE. A Love Story. By Lady Jane Scott. 

THE BEAUTIFUL WIDOW. Ey Mrs. Percy B. Shelley. 

COEA BELMONT ; or, The Sincere Lover. 

TWO WAYS TO MATEIMONY ; or, Is It Love, or. False Pride? 
LOST SIE MASSINGBEED. James Payn’s Best Book. 

TEE OLYFFAEDS OF OLYFFE. By James Paya. 

MY SON’S WIFE. By the Author of “Caste.” 

THE EIVAL BELLES; or, Life in Washington. By J. B. Jones. 
THE EEFUGEE. By the author of “ Omoo,” “ Typee,” etc. 

OUT OF THE DEPTHS. The Story of a Woman’s Life. 

THE MATOHMAKEE. A Society Novel. By Beatrice Eeynolds. 
AUNT PATTY’S SOEAP BAG. By Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz. 
THE STOEY OF “ELIZABETH.” By Miss Thackeray. 
FLIETATIONS IN FASHIONABLE LIFE. By Catharine Sinclair 
THE HEIEESS IN THE FAMILY. By Mrs. Mackenzie Daniels. 
LOVE AND DUTY. A Love Story. By Mrs. Hubback. 

THE COQUETTE ; or. The Life and Letters of Eliza Wharton. 
SELF-LOVE. A Book for Young Ladies and for Women. 

THE DEVOTED BEIDE. By St. George Tucker, of Virginia. 

THE MAN OF THE WORLD. By William North. 

THE EECTOE’S WIFE ; or. The Valley of a Hundred Fires. 

THE QUEEN’S FAVORITE; or, The Price of a Crown. 

COUNTRY QUARTERS. By the Countess of Blessington. 

THE CAVALIER. A Novel. Bv G. P. E. James. 

SARATOGA! AND THE FAMOUS SPRINGS. A Love Story. 
COLLEY CIBBER’S LIFE OF EDWIN FORREST, with Portrait. 
WOMAN’S WRONG. A Book for Women. Bv Mrs. Eiloart. 
HAREM LIFE IN EGYPT AND CONSTANTINOPLE. 

THE OLD PATROON ; or. The Great Van Broek Property. 

THE MACDERMOTS OF BALLYCLORAN. By Anthony Trollope. 
A LONELY LIFE. TREASON AT HOME. PANOLA! 

^^Wnr sale hy all Boolcsellers and News Agents, and pnbh’shed by 

T. B. PETEKSOM & BROTHERS, Philadelphia. 



EACH IS L\ ONE LARGE DU0DECI310 VOLU3IE, MOROCCO CLOTH, GILT BACK, PRICE $1.75 EACH. 
All or any will be sent free of postage, everywhere, to all, on receipt of remittances. 


ISHMAEL; or, IN THE DEPTHS. (Being “ Self-Wade ; or, Out of Depths.”} 
SELF-RAISED; or. From the Depths. The Sequel to “ Ishmael.” 

THE PHANTOM WEDDING; or, the Fall of the House of Flint. 

THE “MOTHER-IN-LAW;” or, MARRIED IN HASTE. 

THE MISSING BRIDE; or, MIRIAM, THE AVENGER. 

VICTOR’S TRIUMPH. The Sequel to “A Beautiful Fiend.” 

A BEAUTIFUL FIEND; or, THROUGH THE FIRE. 

THE LADY OF THE ISLE; or, THE ISLAND PRINCESS. 

FAIR PLAY; or, BRITOMARTE, THE MAN-HATER. 

HOW HE WON HER. The Sequel to “Fair Play.” 

THE CHANGED BRIDES ; or. Winning Her Way. 

THE BRIDE’S FATE. The Sequel to “The Changed Brides.” 
CRUEL AS THE GRAVE; or, Hallow Eve Mystery. 


TRIED FOR HER LIFE. The Sequel to “ Cruel as the Grave.” 

THE CHRISTMAS GUEST; or, The Crime and the Curse. 

THE LOST HEIR OF LINLITHGOW; or, The Brothers. 

A NOBLE LORD. The Sequel to “The Lost Heir of LinIithgo\«.” 
THE FAMILY DOOM; or, THE SIN OF A COUNTESS. 

THE MAIDEN WIDOW. The Sequel to “The Family Doom.” 

THE GIPSY’S PROPHECY; or, The Bride of an Evening. 

/ THE FORTUNE SEEKER; or, Astrea, The Bridal Day. 

THE THREE BEAUTIES; or, SHANNONDALE. 

FALLEN PRIDE; or, THE MOUNTAIN GIRL’S LOVE. 

THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER; or. The Children of the Isle. 

THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS; or, HICKORY HALL. 

THE TWO SISTERS ; or, Virginia and Magdalene. 

THE FATAL MARRIAGE; or, ORVILLE DEVILLE. 

INDIA; or, THE PEARL OF PEARL RIVER. THE CURSE OF CLIFTOK^ 
THE WIDOW’S SON; or, LEFT ALONE. 

THE MYSTERY OF DARK HOLLOW. 

ALLWORTH ABBEY ; or, EUDORA. 

THE BRIDAL EVE; or, ROSE ELMER. 

VIVIA; or, THE SECRET OF POWER. 

THE HAUNTED HOMESTEAD. 


THE WIFE’S VICTORY 
THE SPECTRE LOVER. 

THE ARTIST’S LOVE. 
THE FATAL SECRET. 

LOVE’S LABOR WON. 
THE LOST HEIRESS. 


BRIDE OF LLEV;ELLYN. 


THE DESERTED WIFE. RETRIBUTION 


3frs. Southwortli’ s works loill be found for sale by all Booksellers. 

Copies of any one, or more of 3Irs. Southwortli’ s works, will be sent to any 
‘place, at once, per mail, post-paid, on remitting price of ones wanted to the Publisher s^ 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Pliilaaelpliia, Pa. 


I 


ALi er asiy 'ss'ill te seat free of postage, *very where, to all, on receipt of reaiittaaces, 

Tlic COHnt iSif iS»Este-<^a*isto. "VVitli elcjgaiit iliastrarfions, aad poitaiaits of Edjsaood Dantes^ 
Ittercedes, aixi Ffei'iiaaid. Bclco $1.50 in paper corer ; -or $1.75 in clotb.. 

Edmond Baisitess. A Sequel to ith>e "Oount of Monte-Crtfto.” la 0110 large octaTo voluma. 
Price 75 cents in paper e«5V«r, or a fissr edition, Uousd ia ciotli, for $1.75. 

The C^Wfsless «>1’ JS^ri te-Crls^/O. Witfi a portraiit of the “OoKuteijs trf Manta-Crisito ” .ca 
the cover. One las::g>3 octavo volmne, papctr cover, price -04* boand i'u rf.otii, fyr.$lJ75. 

The Thiree 4»M»r64s»84e«i; Tfie Three Moii.sqiaetis.ires. In ose largo octa^a 
volume. Prkse 75 cmts in paper cover-, or a finer editiou in clotii, for $1.7 5. 

Twoafitj Years Afte*. A Sequel to the “Three Jukiardasnen.'” In oaa large oatavs volume, 
Price 75 censts in paper cov^r, or a finer editian, in one vosjume, cloth, f&r;$1.75. 

Bra^eimiise; tlae of Athos^. Being the eontinuation of “ Twenty Tftfos After.” In 

©ne large octaxwo volniao. Priise Vo -eentc in paper cover, or a finer edition in doHi, ior ^;75. 

The Ijpoh JKa.sk.. Eetiig the ocMitiouatiioea of flie “Three Giiai-dsioen,” '•'^T.wenty Yease After,** 
■and “ BrageSonee.’' In one hvrge @eh;vo volume. Piipor cover, $1.09:- oj- in ioloth, for $1.75. 

ljOiii«e I,a Y&-fTiere? v^r, tsho Second Series -of five “ Iron Ma^dc,’” aoid -ciati of "Tfea Thro* 
GuardsBaoa*’ seiiies. Is one large octavo Toiume. PSaper cover, $1.00; or in cloth, fi.*r $1.75. 

The IKe«4oirs ofxi JPhysieian; or, The Secret Kas-tory of the Coaal'ttfLcwss 'i^efiiSeeatk- 
BeautifuUy Ulusteated. Is one large octavo Toluiai;. Baper cov. 82 ', $1.00; or in doth, for $1.75. 

The ^l.ueen*'® 3reclil«<ce; or. The “ Seojnd Series of the Memi.dirs .of a Bhyaoiaii.” In on® 
iarge octa vo volmne. Bsij,psr cover, fni©e.$1.00; or in one crohsioe, cloth, for $3 .75. 

Six Years SiRfe^r ; or,'Takiugcf the Basale. Being the “T.ljdr'l Series of the Slemcars of a 
Physician.” In one large octave volume. Paper cover, $li00; or in cloth, for $L73. 

Countless »f llharny:; or. The Fall of .the IVench Monsn-chy. Being xlie “Fouilh Sei'ics of 
Ithe Memoifs ofn Pitystcian.” In one large octavo v olume. Paper cover, $1 .HO ; lOr in clorth., for $1.75. 

Aiiciree de Tawerney. UeiKg the “ Fifth Series of the Memoirs -of a Kiysisiaa.'” In one 
^rge octaHo valuiaie. Paper co ver, price $1.00 ; «r in ©lie volume, (doth, for $i.75. 

The Chevalier; or, the “Sixth Series and final conclusion t&e MenwKcs of a PhysicLaa 
iSeries.” In one large octavo Tcduoto. Price $1.69 ia paper t^ver ; or $1.75 in doth. 

Joseph Bralsauxo. Dumas’ greatest \Pork, from whidi fee ^ay of “Joseph Bafe^o" v^a« 
-di-amatiz^, fey hie sen, Alexaixleir lluisas, Jr. I\piGe $3. .06 ivi paper cover, ior;$l .50 in doth. 

The Alemscript-; or. The I>ays4>f I he First ^’-apofeosa. Aai liktariisal Kovel. In 
ono large doodeckiio voknae. Prkie $1.50 la papw cover; or in elefb., for^l.TS. 

Caiiiiiie; or. The Fate of a (“ La Dame aux 'ClaacacMas.'*’^ T^feis theionly 

true and oompletie translation o£ “•Camille,” and it is from ttiiie tcarislation that the Play of “ Ciiciille,” 
Sind the Opera <if*‘La Traviata” was adapted to the Stage. Piipei- cover, price $1.50 ; or in doth, $1.75, 

liOve a.ud Iwltwerty; or., A Man of the Feople. (Beno Besson. | A Thrilling Starj 
■of the French RciV-aLation of 17i)2-83. In cue large -duodedmo volume, pe.i)er(GC»«cr, $1.50; ■dotli, $1.75. 

The Adventores ot a Martinis. Paper . cover-, $1.00; or in oae vdu>mo, doth, f^.- $174). 

Ti»e Forty-Five CJoardsaneii. Paper cover, $1.08; or ki one veluine, cloth, for-^.Ts. 

Diana of Meridor. Paper cover.. -$1:00; ori'a one -volume, cltKih, for $1.75. 

The Iron Maud. Price$l.‘0O in jmper OOT-eCj.or in one voduBie,.iioli*,for:$l.T5. 

Isabel cf Davaria, t^ss-een of France. I» one 'large octevo wirime. Price 75 cent?. 

Annette; or. The Fatly of the Fearls. A Companion fo “Camille.” Price 75 ceni«, 

The Fallen Antjel. A Story -of Love and Life in Paris. 0/ie large volume. Podoe'Ti' •aenfcu 

Tlie Mohic-asss of Faris. In one large octavo ydume. Price 75 cents. 

The Horrors of Paris. In one ,lai-ge -octavo volume. Prieo75 cents. 

The Man with Five Wl^ es. In one large roe^avo valume. Pjs-se 75 cents. 

JMketches in FraBiee. In oee large octavo ■volume. Pi-ioo 75 -.cents. 

F'elina de iJfeambnre; or,, The Female Fiend. Price 75 cents. 

The Twin Fientesiasitsg or, The ^ioldier’s Mritle. 5 Vice .75 cent*. 

.Madame de Fhatnblay.. In; 0 ne large octavo wol-^aio. Pirioo 5U eents. 

Tlie Klack Tulip. 5 n one large -octiiv© volume. Price 50 cents. 

The Forsieaii llrotlser.s. lu ©ne largo octavo volume. Price 50 ceri'ts. 

fireorsre; or. The Planter of the Isle of France. Price 50 ceute. 

The t-onnt of Mol’d. In one large octavo volume. Pnee 50 cents. 

The Hlxirrias-e YertSiefc. one Sai-gse ottta’w va'l-ume. Price >ccBts. 

JJurieti Alive. Xu one lurg'e’ootas-o volume. Price 25 cents. 

f:^AbO‘Ve b&ohsm'C far s<de hy all BooHcUcrs mid N’c<'dos Agents, or copies of an^ 
tne or more, vAU >bc s&nt io omy one, post-paid, on remitting pr ice to the Publishers, 

T* B. PBTElBSO^f & BKOTHEKS, Pliiladelpliui, Pft* 



GEORGE W. M, REYNOLDS’ WORKS. 

NEW AND BEAUTIFUL EDITIONS, JUST READY. 

Each Work is complete and unabridged, in one large volume. 

All or any will be sent free of postage, everywhere, to all, on receipt of remittances. 

Mysteries of the Court of I.ondon; being TITE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT OF 
OEOROE THE THIRD, with the Life and Time.t of the PlimCl) OF_ WALES, afterward (JPOlUii: 
THE FOURTH. Complete in one large volume, bound in cloth, price $i.7o ; or in paper cover, price Si-lHi. 

Rose Foster ; or, the “ Second Series of the Mysteries of the Court of Loudon.” Complete iu ono 
large volume, bound in cloth, price $1.75; or in paper cover, price $1.50. 

Caroline of Rmnswick; or, the “Third Series of the Mysteries of the Ccui-t of London.’* 
Complete in one large volume, bound in cloth, price $1.75; or in paper cover, j rice $1.00. 

Venetia Trelawney ; being the “ Fourth Series < r final conclusion of the Mysteries of the Court 
of London.” Complete in one large volume, bound in cloth, price $1.75; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

LiOrd Saxon<lalc$ or. The Court of Queen Victuria. Complete in one large volume, bound iu 
cloth, price $1.75 ; or in paper cover, iirico $1.00. 

C<»uiit Christo val. The “Sequel to Lord Saxondale.” Complete in one largo volume, bound 
in cloth, price $1.75 ; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

Rosa Liainbert; or. The Memoirs of an Unfortunate Woman. Complete in ono large volume, 
bound in cloth, price $1.75 ; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

Joseph ^Vilniot; Br, The Memoirs of a Man Servant. Complete in one large volume, bound in 
cloth, price $1.75; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

The Raaiher*s I>atig;hter. A Sequel to “ Joseph Wilmot.” Complete in one large volume, 
bound in cloth, price $1.75; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

The Rye-House Plot; or, Ruth, the Conspirator’s Daughter. Complete in one large volume, 
bound in cloth, price $1.75 ; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

Tlie Necromancer. Being the Mysteries of the Court of Henry the Eighth. Ccmpletc in 
#ne large volume, bound in cloth, price $1.75; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

Mary Price; or. The Adventures of a Servant Maid. One vol., cloth, price $1.75; or in paper. $1 OQ 
Eustace Q,uentin. A “Sequel to Mary Price.” One vol., cloth, jirice $1.75; or in paper, $1.0(1 
The Mysteries of the Court of Naples. Price $1.00 in paper ccver; or $1.75 in cloth 
Kenneth. A Romance of the Highlands. One vol., cloth, price $1.75; or in paper cover, $1.00. 
Wallace: the Hero of Scotland. Illustrated vith o8 plates. Paper, $1.10; cloth, $1.75 
The Gipsy Chief. Beautifixlly Illustrated. Price $1.00 in paper cover, or $1.75 in cloth. 
Robert Rruce; the Hero King of Scotlami. Illustrated. Peper,$1.00; cloth, $1.75, 
The Opera Oaiicer ; or. The Mysteries of London Life. Price 75 cents. 

Isabella 'Vincent; or. The Two Oi^phans. One large octavo volume. Price 75 cents. 
Vivian Bertram ; or, A Wife’s Honor. A Sequel to “Isabella Yincent.” Price 75 cents. 
The Countess of Eascelles. The Continuation to “ Yivian 1 ertram.” Price 75 cents. 
Iluke of Marchmont. Being the Conclusion of “ The Countess of Lascelles.” Price 75 centst 
The Child of Waterloo; or, Tlie Horrors of the Battle Field. Price 75 cents. 
l*ichwicR Abroad. A Companion to the “ Pickwick Papers,” by “ Boz.” Price 75 cents. 
The Countess and the Fasre. Ono large octavo volume. Price 75 cents. 

Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots. Comidete in one large octavo volume. Price 76 cents. 
The Sohlier’s Wife. Illustrated. Ono large octavo volume. Price 75 cents. 

May Middleton ; or. The History of a Fortune. In one large octavo volume. Price 75 cexste^ 
Tlie Eoves of the Harem. One large octavo volume. Price 75 cents. 

Ellen Percy; or. The Memoirs of an Actress. One large octavo volume. Price 75 cents. 

The Biscarded Queen. One large octavo volume. Price 75 cems. 

A;;ir»es Evelyn ; or. Beauty and Pleasure. One large octavo vi lume. Price 75 cents. 

Tiie Massacre of Glencoe. One large octavo volume. Price 75 cents. 

The Parricide ; or. Youth’s Career in Crime. Beautifully Illustrated. Price 75 cents. 
Fiprina; or. The Secrets of a Pieinre Gallery. One volume. Price 60 cents. 
Tile Ruined Gamester. With Illustrations. One large octavo volume. Price 50 cents. 

*■ Eife iu Paris. Handsomely illustrated. One large octavo volume. Price 50 cents. 

< Jifford and ihe Actress. One large octavo volume. Price 50 cents. 

Edg’ar Montrose. One large octavo volume. Price 50 cents. 

The above works will be found for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents. 
Copies of any one, or more, or all of Reynolds^ works, will be sent to any place, 
nt once, post-paid, on remitting price of ones wanted to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


Three New American Novels. 


A HEAET TWICE WON 

OR, 

BY MRS. ELIZABETH VAN LOON. 

Author of “Under the Willows; or, The Three Countesses,’^ 
“ The Shadow of Hampton Mead,” etc. 

Bound in Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black. Price $1.50. 


UNDER THE WILLOWS 

OR, 

THE THREE COUNTESSES. 

BY MRS. ELIZABETH VAN LOON. 

Author of “A Heart Twice Won.” 

Bound in Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black. Price $1.50. 


The Shadow or Hampton Mead. 

A STORY OF THREE FAMILIES. 

BY MRS. ELIZABETH VAN LOON. 

Author of “A Heart Twice Won.” 

Bound in Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black. Price $1.50. 


Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers and Neios Ayerts, or capies h% 
tent to any place, at once, per mail, post-paid, on remitting price to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


By author of ** L’Assouuuoir.’* 





V 





A IflOlTK KFISOBB. 

(UNE PAGE b’AMOUR.) 

AUTHOR OF “L’ASSOMMOIR," “THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY," OR, 
“LA FORTUNE DES ROUGON," “THE ABBE’S TEMPTATION,” OR, 

“LA FAUTE DE L’ABBE MOURET,” ETC. 


“Emile.Zola” is the greatest author in France at the present day. His novel, 
“ L’Assommoir,” published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, has already 
had a sale in France of over One Hundred Thousand Copies, and “ HelEne; or^ Unb 
Page D’ Amour,” which is extremely interesting — indeed, exciting — lately issued 
there, has already passed into its forty-eighth edition. One of the most noted liter- 
ary editors in New York wrote as follows to the translator: “I have just finished 
reading, and return to you by mail, your advance copy of ‘ Zola’s’ extraordinary 
book, ‘Helene; or, Une Page D’ Amour.’ It is admirably written, and is full of 
powerful and life-like delineations of character, and in this respect surpasses any of 
his preceding publications, and you, with your skill, will have no difficulty in ren- 
dering it into pure English. By all means translate it at once, and your publishers 
will have the honor of introducing the cleverest book as well as the greatest writer 
of the day to the American public.” And in a letter received by the translator from 
one of the most celebrated critics in Paris, he says: “Why do you not translate 
‘Zola’s’ new book, ‘Helene; or, Une Page D’ Amour’ at once? It is the great 
sensation over here. The book is admirably written by a truly great artist, with a 
powerful realism and absorbing interest, and would be a splendid card for you to play, 
and would prove to be a great success in America. The characters and scenes of the 
story are well conceived and well executed, and it is impossible to deny the author’s 
great skill, for every reader will acknowledge ‘Zola’s’ great power in ‘HElene.’ 
Besides the story, there are many pages devoted to rapturous descriptions of Paris at 
sunrise, at noonday, at sunset, and at night. Zola has made his name famous, and he 
will find plenty of readers for all he writes. Ilis name alone will make any book sell.” 


Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.25. 


\^^The above book is printed on tinted paper, and is issited in square 12mo.form, 
in uniform shape with Assommoir,” *^The Rougon-Macquart Family ; or, La For- 
tune Des Rougon,^’ “The Abbds Temptation; or, La Faute De FAbbe Mouretf’ and 
other works of Emile Zola's pmblished by us, and is for sale by all Booksellers, or copiet 
will be sent to any one, at once, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 



Haney Cottem’s Courtship. 

WITH EIGHT FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS. 

BY M^JOR JOSEBH JONES. 

(OF PiyErXLLE, GEOEQIA.) 


*• Raney pulled his chair a little closer, and caught hold of the thread, while she went on knittin.’* 

ONE VOLUME, SQUARE 12mo., PAPER COVEPv. PRICE 50 CENTS, 

Raney Coltem^s Courtship is for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copie* 
of it will be sent at once, post-paid, on remitting Fifty cents in a letter to the publishers, 

T. B. PETEllSOJJf & BKOTHEKS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


5 ^ 

It 


C. tSi 

® 's* 

«> s 


fl 

a a 
s 


By author of “L’Assommoir.” 


OUGON-^ACDUABT FAMILY. 

(LA FORTUNE DES ROUGON.) 

AUTHOR OF “L’ASSOMMOIR," “HELENE,” OR, “UNE PAGE D’AMOUR,” “THE 
AUBE’S TEiMPTATluN,” OR, “ LA FAUTE DE L’ABBE MOURET,” ETC. 


Read what the New York Daily Times says of it: 

“ The Rougon-Macquart Family,” hy Emile Zola, is a most striking book, and 
infinitely superior to “ L’Assommoir.” The description of Plassans, with its Roman 

f ates, its three well-marked divisions of society, its obscure intrigues among Clericals, 
legitimists, bourgeois, and peasants, is worthy of Balzac — a writer, indeed, of whom 
one is often reminded by Zola, and which, in some points, he surj)asses. The love 
of Silv^re and Miette has a note of charm that Balzac never struck. The first friendship 
between the children is as delightfully rendered as if Zola had been inspired by the 
old tellers of love-tales who invented* the story of Pyram.us and Thisbe. Like these 
lovers, Silvlre and Miette are separated by a wall, but they are more fortunate in hav- 
ing a smootli well under the wall in which to see each other’s faces. Their late love- 
making is that of Dapknis and Chloe, a story which has always been the greatest 
favorite among Frenchmen, and is found ennobled and purified in the celebrated story 
of Paul and Virginia. Zola’s lovers stand midway between the Greek and the "West 
Indian version, being passionate, but not improper in the English translation, what- 
ever it may be in the French original. Tl)e tragedy of the book consists in the deaths 
of Silvlre and Miette, victims of the echo in the jirovinces of the coup d’etat of 
Napoleon 111. To judge from “The RouGON-MACCiLART Family,” Zola is in poli- 
tics more an aristocrat than a democrat, and more of a republican than an aristocrat. 
He has the true French contempt for the bourgeoisie, and draws a ludicrous picture 
of the burghers of Plassans listening to the sounds of revolution in and about their 
town when the news comes that Napoleon has stolen the throne. The only calm person 
is the old Marquis de Carnavant, and the only energetic person, Madome Rougon. 
By a refinement of satire Zola makes the coup d’etat which raises Rougon to the 
Mayor’s chair and causes all Plassans to look upon him as a hero and patriot to 
emanate from, and entirely run at the will of, Madame Rougon. She remains in the 
background, but all the movements of her husband are controlled by her. This is 
the book for all to read, in order to understand Zola’s position, for it is full of genius. 



Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.25. 


I^^The Rougon- Macquart Family^' is printed on tinted paper, and is issued in 
sqiuire l2ino. form, in uniform shape with Assommoir,” ^^IJelene; a Love Episode,’* 
or, “ line Page d* Am our,” “77iC Abbels Temptation; ” or, *'La Faute JJe L* Abbe Mouret,” 
^^The Conquest of Plassans;” a Tale of Provincial Life; ^^The Markets of Paris,” 
and other works of Emile Zola’s published by us, and. is for sale by all Booksellers, or 
copies will be sent to any one, at once, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, 

T. B. FETEKSON & BliOTllEIlS, 

oOO Chestnut Street, Pliilatlelpliia, Fa. 


Emile Zola’s Greatest Work! 

OVER 100,000 COPIES SOLD IN FRANCE. 

L’ASSOMMOIR! 

AUTHOR OF “the ABBE’S TEMPTATION,” “ HIELENE,” ETC. 

TEANSLATED EEOM THE FEEHOH BY JOHN STIELING. 


Head xvhnt "Dr. G. D. Cox, the 'Literary Editor of The Philadelphia Chroni<de- 
lleraldf says of ** 1/ Assoinnioirf^ Editorially f in that Paper, 

“L’ASSOMMOIR,” a Novel, by Emile Zola, translated from the French by John Stir* 
ling, is published this day by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, and is one of 
the most wonderful novels ever printed, and for intensity of realism, has no equal, 
iiaving already attained a sale in France of over One Hundred Thousand Copies. 
“The publication in English of this, the greatest novel of the greatest French realistic 
novelist, is, in all senses, an experiment. The ‘Assommoir’ probes to the uttermost 
depths the springs of degradation and depravity among the lower orders of the Parisian 
population, and the picture presented has not a single touch of varnish. There it is in 
fill its hideous and sickening reality, even the coarse local slang is reproduced in such 
boldness as to make the reader start, and Zola stops at nothing. He takes his subject 
as he finds it, and reproduces it with the most scrupulous fidelity. Such a novel as 
the ‘Assommoir,’ and such a novelist as ‘ Zola,’ are new to the American public, 
and Mr. Stirling, at the instance of his publishers, has undertaken the herculean task 
of purifying the ‘Assommoir,’ that our readers may get the gist of the great book 
and yet not be shocked. It is but just to say that he has done his work with much 
skill and judgment. Mr. Stirling gives the story, its animus and its vivid local color- 
ing, but he does so in a refined way, and, strange to say, he has not weakened the 
‘Assommoir’ in the least by so doing. He shows Gervaise, her struggles to be an. 
honest woman, her troubles, and her final fall into the slough of sin, ending in a 
pauper’s death. He shows Coupeau, at first a good citizen and an estimable man, then 

E assing through all the stages of drunkenness to his end by delirium tremens in the 
ospital. The smooth-tongued Lantier, Nana, who took naturally to sin, and Goujet, 
the manly and virtuous blacksmith, are all there. We would advise all who cannot 
read the ‘Assommoir’ in the original French to read Mr. Stirling’s version of iU 
They will find the book a curiosity, to say the least of it.” 

Paper Coveri 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.00. 

Bn 

^^^Ah(yve Books are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies will bt 
¥>tU to any place, at once, per mail, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETEKSO:S^ & BliOTHEKS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


Hy Author of ^*Jtancy eottem^s Cout'iship^*^ *fCJiron{eles of J^inevUiet*^ 
**Mf^jQr..^OJio$*9 Shvtoho9 of y^'avelf* etc^ 


D 



Major Jones’s Courtship 

WITH 21 FUIL PA€SE IliUSTBATIONS. 

BY MiLJOB JOSEBH JONES. 

{OF PINEVIIj^LFf GEORGIA.^ 


*'By this time the galls was bolt of my coat-tafl, bollerin as hard as they could.** 

ONE VOLUME, SQUARE 12mo., PAPER COVER* PRICE 75 CENTS. 


Major Jones's Courtship is for sate hy all Booksellers and Neics Agents, or copies oj 
it will be sent at 07 ice, post-paid, on remilting Seventy-five cents in a letter to the publishers, 

T. B. mTKBSON & BKOTKKKS, Fliiladclpliia, Pa. 


By Author of ^^Batiey Cott&inls Courtships* f^Chronictes of Pincvillof* 
Major Joneses Sketches of Travel/* etc. 


Greville^s New Russian Novel. 



THE RUSSIAN VIOLINIST. 

BY HliMRY ©RKirilalsK, 

aurnoR OF “dosia,” “marrying off a daughter,” “sav^li’s expiation” 

iiONNE-MARIE,” “ PHILOMENE’S MARRIAGES,” “SONIA,” “A FRIEND” * 

‘ DOURNOF,” “ GABRIELLE,” “ PRETTY LITTLE COUNTESS ZINA.” ’ 

TEAmATED EJ PAEIS, BY MISS HELEN STANLEY. 

**Mar'kof” IS a musical novel, and an art study, full of beautiful prose and true poetry, and such 
as could be ivritten only by an artist and a genius. The character-drawing is marvellous in breadth 
find analyzatton, and gives proof of rare artistic skill, while the most delicious fancies, expressed in 
graceful, poetical and vigorous language, render the author’s style incomparably charming. / know 
of no work, nor can I remember any one which has phased me so much, both in its ideas and their 
expression, in its plots and development, in its brilliancy and real value, as " Markof.” The 
English version retains the strong, clear style of the French with commendable fidelity. There are 
a few letters in the novel which are unique, and their style is admirably Preserved in the translcu. 
iion. — Boston Globe. 

One Large Volume, Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.50. 

HENRY GREVILLE’S OTHER KOVELS. 

DOITRNOF. A Hussian Novel. By Henry Grhnlle, author of “Saveli’s Expia- 
tion,” “Dosia,” “Sonia,” etc. Price 50 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

BONNE-MARIE. A Tale of Normandy and Paris. By Henry Greville, author of 
“ Saveli’s Expiation ” and “ Dosia.” Price 50 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

DOSIA. By Henry Grtville, author of “Saveli’s Expiation,” “Marrying Off a 
Daughter,” “ Sonia,’* and “ Gabrielle.’* Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

PHILOMIINE’S MARRIAGES. By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia,” “Saveli’s 
Expiation,” “ Sonia,” and “ Gabrielle.’* Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

PRETTY LITTLE COUNTESS ZINA. By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia,** 
“Saveli’s Expiation,** and “ Gabrielle.’* Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

MARRYING OF? A DAUGHTER. By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia,” “ Savd- 
Ji’s Expiation,’* “ Sonia,” and “ Gabrielle.’* Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in clot^ 

SAVELI’S EXPIATION. By Henry Greville. A dramatic and powerful novel of 
Russian life, and a pure, pathetic love story. Price 50 cts. in paper, or $1.00 in clot^ 
SONIA. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville, author of “Saveli’s Expiation,’* 
“ Dosia,” and “ Marrying Oif a Daugliter.” Price 50 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

A FRIEND ; or, L’AMI. By Henry Grtville, author of “ Saveli’s Expiation,’* 
“ Dosia,” and “ Marrying OT a Daughter.” Price 50 cents in paj^er, or $1.00 in cloth. 

GABRIELLE; or, THE HOUSE OF MAUREZE. By Henry Greville, author of 
“ Dosia,” “ A Friend,” “ Saveli’s Exiiiation.” Price 50 cts. in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 


Above Booh are for sale by all Booksellers and Hews Agents, or copies will hi 
tent to any place, at once, per mail, post-paid, on remitting price to the PublisherSy 

T. B. PETEKSOK & BKOTHERS, Pluladelpliia, Pa. 


Andre Theuriet’s Greatest Work. 


ANGELE’S FORTUNE. 

A STOEY OP EEAL LIFE. 

BY“ AHDKB THEUHIET. . 

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY MARY NEAL SHERWOOD. 


‘^Ang^:le’s Fortune’^ is looked upon by all French critics as the 
strongest and most dramatic of Tlieuriet's novels. In it the love-mak-- 
ing is charming , and done with great delicacy ^ for Andre Theuriet is 
an artist. He fascinates profoundly , and does not confine himself j as 
is his custom^ to j^ictures of provincial life, hut gives us a glimpse of 
Paris, its theatres and its streets. We watch the heroine from begin- 
ning to end with unabated interest. Her pretty follies amuse and 
interest at first, while at the end they give us tlte heartache ; while the 
mother, at once weak and energetic, is a character almost new in fiction. 
^Pja Genevraie,^^ the gay adventurer — heartless and yet not altogether 
selfish — is a French Micawber, while the hero, the poet, and lover of 
luxury, is so well done that we feel that he was drawn from life. The 
story is most admirably told, and as to the translation, it is only neces- 
sary to say that it is one of 3Irs. Sherwood’s, to ensure its success. 

Paper Cover, 75 Cents, Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.25, 

Fortune'^ is printed on tinted paper, and is issued in square ISjmo. 
form, in uniform shape with Assommoir,'^ ^‘H^i^ne; a Love Episode^ or, ^‘Une Page 
d^ Amour, **The Abba's Temptation,” ‘^The Markets of Paris,” ^*The Rougon-Macquart 
Family ;” or, “ia Fortune Pes Rougon,” ‘^The Conquest of Plassans,” and other works 
of Emile Zola's published by us, and is for sale by all Booksellers, or eopies will be sent 
lo ally one, to any place, at once, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, • 

T. B. PETEKSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 


A Mew Movel ©f Great Power* 



Tre Ea.iil of Mayfield is a new novel, written by a noted American author, 
most of the scenes of which are in America, while some of the characters are those 
of persons who were conspicuous in our civil war, just published by T. B. Peterson it 
Brothers, Philadelphia, It deals largely with real life and historical personages, 
which are treated with a master’s pen, while the scenes are varied, and full of interest 
and instruction. The opening scenes are in the South, some of them being laid on a 
sugar plantation, and much food for pleasant meditation v ill be found in the study of 
the several characters portrayed, and one will w’atch with interest the course of the 
hero, Thomas Carew, who is a rich Louisiana planter at tlie beginning of the story, is 
loyal to the Union, and after many trials and sacrifices, which must not be alluded to 
here lest the reader’s interest may be weakened, becomes the recognized heir to a title 
and great estate in England. There is an air of realism about the wdiole narrative, 
and th'i chapters describing certain events in Washington during the war, and scenes 
with President Lincoln and members of his Cabinet, are especially notable in this 
respect. Evidently the writer is a Southerner, w ho has, however, a lofty estimate of 
the grea.t character of Abraham Lincoln, though he rates some of his advisers much 
lower. It would be impossible to enumerate the many virtues of the lovely and per- 
fectly ])iire heroine, Mary Stuart, or the })leasing qualities of Boiseau, vVhiteficld, 
Brandon, Randolph and other characters in the work, but in praising worth, we mn.'-t 
not fail to mention the faithful Mignon, whose equal for love and interest in her tiiir 
mistress is rarely found. The iricidents and scenes laid in Italy cannot fail to jdea.-e 
the most fastidious, and will be found to have the rare merit of making the reader wi^li 
there were more of tliem. It has the advantage of having but few characters, witii 
good descriptions, excellent dialogues, and well sustained interest. The style is easy, 
and the incidents of a romantic character, together with the descriptions of scenery 
and social life in Louisiana, Italy, and in England, combine with the historical events 
embodied in the stoiy to make “The Earl of Mayfield” a book that will be read with 
deligtit and advantage by thousands of Americans. It is j)rinted in large, clear lyi)e, 
and the paper and binding are unexceptionable.— Bulletin. 


Complete in One Volume, Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. Price $i.50. 

JCSr* The Earl of Nay field will he found for sale hy all Booksellers and Neivs Agents, 
and on all Rail Road Trains, or copies of it will be sent to any one, to any place, at once, 
per mail, post-paid, on remitting $1.50 in a letter to the Publishers, 

T- B. TETEIKSON & BKOTIIEKS, 

300 Ciicstnut Street, Fliilaclelpiiia, Fa. 


Earl’s Wooing. 


AN EARL’S WOOING. 


^^St. Maur; Aisr Earl’s Wooing,” is a very peculiar 
work of fiction, with the scene in England, though some Amer~ 
ican characters, drawn without exaggeration, figure in it. It 
is decidedly sensational, voith a well-ccnistructed story, lohich 
might he regarded as too higJdy wrought, were it not that every 
mystery is set even at the close. The various action takes ylace 
in high, middle, and what may he called low life — though it 
does not go so far into the depths of the latter as “ Oliver 
Twist T One of the hest characters, of whom too much is not 
made, is a clever Detective. Most of the scenes are worked 
out with great effect; and the destruction of a great country 
mamsion, hy fire, in England, in which the heroine and hero 
are saved hy the devoted self-sacrifice of Trevellyan , the EarVs 
tried and true friend, is most powerfully written, and the death 
scene of the latter is a ivonderfid hit of tender pathos. There 
is an exquisite poem in it, the story is n icely told, the author 
is well acquainted ivith London society, and, this romance of 
the present time will he found highly original . — Critic. 

Paper Cover, 75 Cents, Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.25. 


Maur; an EarVs Wooing’’ is printed on tinted paper, and is issued in 
square 12mo. form, in uniform shape with ^‘L’Assommoir,” ^‘HUlne ; a Love Episode,” 
or P^Vne Page d’ Amour,” “The Abbi’s Temptation,” “The Markets of Paris,” “The 
Rougon-Macquari Family;” or, “La Fortune Des Rougon,” “The Conquest of Plassans,” 
and other works of Emile Zola’s published by us, and is for sale by all Booksellers, or 
copies loill be sent to any one, at once, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETEKSON & BROTHERS, 

30G Clicstnvit Street, Pliilaclcli)liia, Pa. 


MI’RTIall 


A. ISTO V 


uwBr 

EL. 


BY ROBBRT B. BABI^ARB. 

OF NORTH CAROLINA. 


An attractive and •well-written American novel is acceptable at all times, particu- 
larly when it comes from a pen, which, whether practised or not, has undoubtedly 
been used by the hand of a man of genius — one of the class who, as Dr. Johnson tersely 
said, once upon a time, sat down not to think what he should write, but to write what 
he deeply thought. “ Myrtle Lawn,” by Eobert E. Ballard, is an American romance 
of real life — a story almost of the present, so near to our time do the incidents occur. It 
is dedicated to Gid. Branch Alston, Esq., of North Carolina, to which State the author 
belongs. The narrative may be said to ojien in Mexico, with the history of a patriotic 
family there, to which Nora La vine, one of the heroines of the tale, belongs by descent. 
The home-scenes of this romance, which are admirably presented, take place in a 
beautiful village in Maryland, in which three families reside, respectively named 
Melton, Evarts, and Lavine. The heads of these families are respectively two merchant 
princes, and Mrs. Lavine, the widow of a Colonel in the Confederate army. There 
are two sons, Henry Melton and Horace Evarts, who form deep attachments to Jeannette 
Evarts and Nora Lavine. But, as “the course of true love never yet ran smooth,” the 
elder Mr. Melton, who has very ambitious views for his son, forbids him to associate 
any longer with Miss Evarts, whom he has known since childhood, and the younger 
Mr. Evarts, having become jealous of Nora Lavine, leaves his native land in despair, 
and joins the Spanish army, then engaged in civil war, and greatly distinguishes him- 
self in actual conflict. It was a villain of the darkest dye who had managed with 
great ingenuity to make appearances seem heavy against the young lady. Overtaken, 
at last, hi his villainy, and the victim of remorse on his death-bed, this man makes a 
full confession which, clearing her, restores her lover, and the late repentance of Mr. 
Melton permits his son to wed the lady of his love, thereby giving a charming daugh- 
ter to himself. The death-bed repentance and confession of MacKenzie, the villain of 
the story, is a very truthful and terrible piece of writing, powerful in its tragic force. 
But the crowning merit of “ Myrtle Lawn ” will be found, or criticism greatly errs, 
in the description of a battle-scene in Spain, during the Carlist war. It is a panoramic 
painting in words, such as Macaulay might have dashed off in a happy hour of literary 
excitement. There is nothing of the sort so fine in modern fiction. The dialogues and 
correspondence in this tale are admirable, and the author’s stream of narrative is at 
once clear, strong, and rapid. — Critic. 


Boand in Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black. Price $1.50. 


Myrtle Lmon ” is printed on tinted paper ^ and is issued in a large duodecimo 
volume, and is for sale by all Booksellers, price $1.50 a copy, or copies will be sent to 
any one, at once, post-paid, on remitting $1.50 in a letter to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 


]Eiii£I@ Zola’s Hew IBooks. 


Tlie Greatest Novels Ever Printed. 


L’ASSOMMOIR. By Einile Zola, author of “The Conquest of 
Plassans,” “ The Markets of Paris,” “ The Rougon-Macquart 
Family,” “Helene,” “The Abbe’s Temptation,” etc., etc. 
“ L’Assommoir ” is the most Popular Novel ever published* 
It has already attained a sale in Paris of over One Hundred 
Thousand Copies. Complete in one large square duodecimo 
volume, price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in 
Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS; or, LA CONQUETE 
DE PLASSANS, A Tale of Provincial Life. By Emile 
Zola. One large square duodecimo volume, price 75 cents in 
paper cover, or $1.25 in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

THE MARKETS OP PARIS; or, LE VENTRE DE 
PARIS. By Emile Zola, author of “ L’Assommoir.” One 
large square duodecimo volume, price 75 cents in paper 
cover, or $1.25 in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY; or, LA FOR- 
TUNE DES ROUGON. By Emile Zola, author of 
“ L’Assommoir.” One large volume, price 75 cents in paper 
cover, or $1.25 in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

HELENE; A LOVE EPISODE; or, UNE PAGE 
D’AMOUR. By Emile Zola, author of “L’Assommoir.” 
One large square duodecimo volume, price 75 cents in paper 
cover, or $1.25 in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

THE ABBE’S TEMPTATION; or, LA FAUTE DE 
L’ABBE MOURST. By Emile Zola, author of “ L’Assom- 
moir.” One large square duodecimo volume, price 75 cents 
in paper cover, or $1.25 in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 


Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies of any 
one, or all of them, will be sent to any one, to any place, at once, per return of mail, post- 
paid, on re/mitting the price of the ones wanted, to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETEKSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Cliestnut Street, Pliilaclelpliia, Piu 


It is worth double its price.”— Oitoioa, (CanadaX Advertiser. 


JVITD BEST!-^ 


FlTEBSOl’S MAGAZINE 


^©‘F&ILL-SIZE PAPER P ATTERNS!"^ 

45r* A Supplement mil be given in every number for 1879, containing a full.size pattern sheet for a 
iady's, or child's dress. Every subscriber will receive, during the year, twelve of these patterns, so tf.at these 
alone will be worth more than the subscription price. Great improvements will also be made in other r»- 
spects.“^i^ 


“Peterson’s Magazine ” contains, every year, 1000 pages, 14 steel plates, 12 colored Berlin patterns, 
12 manmiotli colored fashion plates, 24 pages of music, and about 9U0 wood cuts. Its principal embel* 
lisliments are 

SUFEBB STEEL ENGBAVINGSI 

Its immense circulation enables its proprietor to spend more on embellishments, stories, Ac. than 
any other, Jt gives more for the money, and combines more merits, than any in the world. Its 

TAMS MB lB¥mWTlS 

Are the best published anywhere. All the most popular writers are employed to write originally fr^ 
Petersmi." In 1879, in addition to the usual quantity of short stories, FIVE OKIGINAL COPYRIGHT 
NOVELETTES will be given, by Ann S. Stephens, Frank Lee Benedict, Frances Hodgson Burnett, 
Jane G. Austin, and that unrivalled humorist, the author of “ Josiah Allen’s Wife.” 



Ahead of all others. These plates are engraved on steel, twice the usual size, and are unequalled for 
beauty. They will be superbly colored. Also, Household and other receipts; articles on “Wax-Work 
Flowers,” “Management of Infants;” in short everylliing interesting to ladies. 

N. B. — As the publishers now prepay the postage to all mail subscribers, Peterson''' is cheaper than 
ever; in fact is the cheapest in the world 


TSHMS (Always in Advance) $2.00 A Y£AH« 

r Wh'th a cop 3 ' of the premium picture (24 x 20) “ Christ BlessinO 
? Little Childi.en,” a five dollar ennraving, to the person getting up 
(. the Club. 

f With an extra copy of the Magazine for 1879, as a premium, to 
( the person getting up the Club. 

{ With both an extra copy of the Magazine for 1879, and the 
premium picture, a five dollar engraving, to the person getting up 
the Club. 

Address, post-paid, 

CHARLES J. PETERSON, 

300 Cliestiiut St., Fliiladelpliia ^ 

JJ^tJpecimeuB sent gratis if written for,, 


2 Copies for $3.50 

3 “ “ 4.50 

4 Copies for $6*50 

6 “ “ 9.00 

5 Copies for $8.00 

7 * “ 10.50 


Emile Zola’s New Books. 


The Greatest Novels liver Printed, 


L’ASSOMMOIR. By Emile Zola, author of “The Conquest of 
Plassans,” “The Markets of Paris,” “The Rougon-Macquart 
Family,” “ H41ene,” “ The Abbe’s Temptation,” etc. “ L’Assom- 
moir ” is the most Popular Novel ever published. It has already 
attained a sale in Paris of over One Hundred Thousand Copie^. 
Complete in one large square duodecimo volume, price 75 cents 
in paper cover, or One Dollar in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

THE CONQUEST OP PLASSANS; or, LA CONQUETI 
DE PLASSANS. A Tale of Provincial Life. By Emile ZoU 
Complete in one large square duodecimo volume, price 75 cents i. 
paper cover, or $1,25 in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

THE MARKETS OP PARIS; or, LE VENTRE DE 
PARIS. By Emile Zola, author of “ L’Assommoir.” Complete 
in one large square duodecimo volume, price 75 cents in paper 
cover, or $1.25 in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

THE ROUGON-MACQUART PAMILY; or, LA POR- 
TUNE DES ROUGON. By Emile Zola, author of “ L’Assom- 
moir.” Complete in one large square duodecimo volume, price 75 
cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

E^lIiNE; a love EPISODE; or, UNE PAGE 

D* AMOUR. By Emile Zola, author of “L’Assommoir,” 
Complete in one large square duodecimo volume, price 75 cents 
in paper cover, or $1.25 in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

THE ABBE’S TEMPTATION; or, LA PAUTE DE 
L’ABBE MOURET. By Emile Zola, author of “ L’Assommoir.” 
Complete in one large square duodecimo volume, price 75 cen^ 
in paper cover, or $1.25 in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

EMILE ZOLA’S BOOKS IN PRESS. Nana! Th4r^se Raquin! 
Le Mort d’Olivier Becaille 1 La Cur4e I Son Excellence Eugene 
Rougon ! Contes a Ninon ! Mes Haines I Nouveaux Contes 
a Ninon ! Les My stores de Marseilles 1 etc. 

Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents^ or copies of any or of 

iheuif will be sent to any place, ai once, per mail, post-paid, on remitting price to the Pitblis^ers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa, 



i 







\ 


- v . 










T.*TI , . •'• • **. * *'* 2 '^'- 



l ’^ J ^ 

'<>«{ 


•' J 


■■.•■■ '' Vr , 


*. 4 


.• •*.' 


t 


41 . 


■* t 



» I 




rt 


t - 


I 

. ) 


* »» 


-^ A ’ ' 'r . 

■ ■■■■# 4 ''.- :• 

/ 4 ^-1 • 


' '' ‘-•’' t *' 

^ • 4 ^. 



>•’1 % 


.^1 


‘VJ . 1 - ■ 1 * I . «• » •* 



lUZ 


• A 


I . 


S’7;'^S /■' -iiS ‘ .' I *-' 


•. 'A 


V 





, ^ 



* V-' .' u’- ; ' ' , ■ .vu ; ■' 

'* ’ ‘ ‘ } ■" /■ ‘-*'' ' 
. 4 T’> ' ’ »I 


H ^ l ; > ■ «■*■ 


' » ^ 











*•»’ 




*• V -.- •■ ' ^ 


^ Ai>l V ' '• ' ‘V ^ Wa ] 



f 








t 


V 


i 


I 


I 


1 


I 







I 


4 


ft 


ft 


\ 


4 * 


# 


% 


. ft 







% 


ft 


i 


4 


‘ ■ . ■ W:‘ s -A'- ■■ j . ■*' 

• . .'V ■•• 



1 / • 
f 


I . • 






C 4 ;■ ; -mm 



* JB 


. i 


• } 


r' « 


%r 





■ ' -?fv- 





4 I 


* < k 




'S’V;. 


!• 




>• I 


'*’. I 


• \ 


•If • 


yi 


’N 


r t 



A 


>'A 


A ♦ 



'/i 




ri • 


>4 


"i 


* 






• « 



» •« 4 


^ 4 




is#,? 


• .f 




? • > 


•.A 


'< • 


i*V 



' / V 

l‘ < . ‘^ T 


5 » 


Ah'* 


r 


’ I T'ti ^ ' 


• .* 

. * * » 

A I- . 






^ 1 




^ “ 


t. 





ji.T> 


'^M k 


'. 4 , • 




- -jh f ». . ■*' ./Ti 







^ . 


* 


^ #r • *» ^ 

* -ff • 





a; 


V' 


Ji C 


A.' V H 


!• 




i 








